


Conversations Season 3

by aussieokie



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, How much Keenler angst can there be?, Keenler - Freeform, Ressler has to hunt his partner, Season 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-26 04:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 66,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4990636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aussieokie/pseuds/aussieokie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conversations mainly with Ressler and Keen through the season 3 episodes. They will be one shots and scene additions and expansions that fit in with the episodes. With them apart this season, there is always room to add and edit scenes to give us more Keenler! As usual, my POV is with Ressler as he hunts his partner this year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What You Feel About Her

_After the amazing first episode we got for Season 3, I've had a hard time finding a chapter for this episode! There was so much in it. It was SO tight that there really weren't any glaring holes that would normally scream for an additional scene. But after multiple viewings (I know, it's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it!) I started to see that there where little holes that could be filled in. And since there is always room for more Ressler and Keenler, this is what I came up with to start off Conversations 3 for this stunning Season 3 opener!_

* * *

The tavern is dim in the shuttered interior as shards of sunlight shine through the upturned glasses on the bar. A musty beer-filled odor permeates dark wood paneling on walls that surround chipped and worn tables and chairs. The chairs sit empty, awaiting the regulars that saunter in each evening to partake in a drink with friends. It's a comfortable establishment that waits silently until the laughter and conversation fills it at night. But there is no silence today, nor cheerful banter. Through dirty windows the strobe of red and blue law enforcement lights flash from vehicles that surround the building. Inside and out, heavily armed SWAT and FBI agents in black combat gear stake out the location, assault rifles poised for action

Standing at the rear of the building by a small sink in an alcove, Donald Ressler is flanked by two armed SWAT guys. Yet he's calling point. He's the Director of the lead agency on scene and they're looking to him for their next move.

He knows Liz is near. There is no hard evidence, just a feeling. And while his gut had let him down badly when he'd let her go, right now it's working just fine. She is near. She is close. He's just not exactly sure where. His eyes drop as he searches. And that's when he notices the floor. A distinct square cut around the base of the sink. He reaches quickly for the taps and turns them, only to find they are not connected to any plumbing.  _Son of a bitch._

As the SWAT guys lift the sink, he steps back. Behind him, Tiffany Lepman is being escorted out to a waiting police car. She's now given up all pretense of not making the call to the tip line.

"You need to catch that terrorist woman! She held me at gunpoint!"

Ressler ignores her. Or tries to. He's been surrounded by people referring to Keen as a terrorist all day and to say it's not sitting well with him is an understatement.

He steps forward as an underground bunker is revealed at his feet. The concrete floor is about 15 feet below the foot of the access ladder. His heart is hammering, yet his voice remains calm. Not one of the SWAT guys would have any idea of the torment behind the cool façade he's got firmly planted in place. He's an expert at this.

"Keen, I know you're down there." Nothing.

"Look, there's two ways this ends. You come up hands raised or we come down guns raised." He waits. Nothing again. In a strange dance within his brain, he is afraid she will answer, yet equally afraid she will not.

"Your call." Silence greets his voice again. She's not here. He can feel it.

At his nod to the SWAT commander, a smoke and flash grenade is tossed into the cellar. As the smoke infiltrates the small underground room, Ressler drops down the stairs, shining his flashlight. With no more than a cursory glance at the man on the ground, he scans the room. It's not unlike another underground bunker a lifetime away on a cult compound - except there are no taunting bottles of pain pills on these shelves. He shoves the memory aside. There is no time for that now.

_Focus._

They're gone. And in a terrible, unwanted moment of déjà vu, it's three years ago after he'd stormed another bunker to find it empty. Reddington had been gone then and now he's standing in a vacant room in Reddington's wake. Their elusive game of cat and mouse has begun anew, except now it's a party of three. The beam of his flashlight lands on the grate on the wall and hovers over the loose corner. Their escape route. Red's contingency plans would have been in place for such a scenario. Nothing surprises the man.

Resisting the urge to thump something, he gives a quick flick of his head toward the armed men before two SWAT guys are already on it. Hauling the grate open they're inside, maneuvering down the tunnel before disappearing from sight as it rounds a turn. He wants to run down that tunnel with them and haul the criminal back in and catch up with Liz. The sudden overwhelming desire to turn and walk away from all this and be back at work in the morning with his partner sitting across from him rises in his gut. But that's not happening. Instead he retrieves his phone from his pocket and hits the speed dial on it.

"Aram, the tip paid off. They were here. Seal off an area of 20 blocks around the address the tip came in from." He hangs up as Aram confirms the order, sliding his phone back into his pocket. He turns and lowers his flashlight toward the man on the ground.

"Where did they go?" It's a useless question. No way would Reddington have told this man, who is no more than a pawn in the criminal's plans.

"I don't know! Where is my sister?!" The plaid shirted man asks as he's pulled roughly to his feet by the SWAT commander.

"She's in custody. Arrested for harboring a known fugitive and terrorist." The words roll smoothly off his tongue to the man, yet Ressler almost chokes on the word 'terrorist'. His partner is a lot of things, but terrorist is not one of them. "Which is what you are also being arrested for." Steely eyes boring into the cuffed man, Ressler looks at him a second longer before dismissing him, addressing the SWAT commander in the dim smoke filled bunker.

"Get him out of here."

As the prisoner is assisted up the access ladder, Ressler turns again and steps toward the opening in the wall. He's going through the motions. Leading the team. And as much as he hates to admit it, it's his gut which is leading the show right now and he knows they are long gone. Yet he was close. So damn close. Reddington has slipped through his fingers once more, but it's the thought of Liz slipping further from him that makes his stomach lurch.

The bunker is empty now as the last of the SWAT team leave. He stands alone turning slowly as his flashlight beam falls on the meager furnishings and supplies. Two cots adorn either side of the room. One has been used, the other is made up tight, evidence of a military background. Perhaps the plaid shirted man was an old Navy comrade of Reddington's. He stops. The thought of the word 'comrade' brings a hiss to his lips. His thoughts that are never far from her land squarely back on Liz. She's not Russian. Her mother may have been Russian, but she isn't.

Eyes follow the flashlight beam around the room, picking up the shelves of food items and decades old magazines. Who knows how many have used this space as a safe harbor. As a living quarters. It's musty, old and dank. Yet surprisingly well laid out and utilized. His ordered mind scans the room and lands on the small table and chairs. The remains of a meal are on the table. Dinner for two. He knows which side Liz sat at, looking at the two plates. Red's meal was finished. The man was calm and had his appetite. This is his territory, being on the run. He knows the ropes. Yet Liz's plate is half eaten, her meal barely touched. His flashlight lands on the small chair at the table. She was sitting right there just minutes earlier. Fingers brush the back of the small, hard chair.

Eyes land back on the half eaten meal. She was nervous. Sick at her stomach and couldn't eat. His mind is back in their office, sitting with her as they celebrated her birthday. She had eaten all of her meal that night and been comfortable in his presence. He had been comfortable in hers and yet now it feels a lifetime ago. One half touched meal is telling him so much about her state of mind. She's out of her depth and relying on Reddington to get her through this.

"Liz…" he whispers, almost unaware he's uttered her name.

Turning his attention back to the cots he knows the rumpled one is where Red would have laid out and rested. Liz would not have been comfortable enough to do so. She was too on edge and ready to run at a seconds notice. He moves toward the ladder to exit the room. At the base of it, one hand on the rung near his head he turns back once more as his eyes linger on the sight of her empty chair.

The room above him is quiet, with the prisoners having been escorted from the premises. The SWAT guys have retreated to the outside. He stands alone looking around the room that housed his partner and her mentor, Reddington. He's learned more about her in the past two minutes than he's understood all day. He's profiled her. She'd be proud of him.

A gasp escapes his lips as he catches his breath. The smoke has dissipated and for one brief second he almost smells her perfume. It has to be his imagination. Yet he can smell it. Feel her near him in his mind. See her standing before him. Beside him. Across from him at her desk as they share their office. Yet it's all gone now. She is gone.

He turns and hauls himself up the ladder, leaving the empty bunker and the memory of its occupants below him.

###

As the SWAT van pulls out in front of his SUV, he follows and with a backward glance in his rear view mirror, he leaves the tavern. It's time to head back to the Post Office and brief Reven Wright. Which is not such an easy task with the city on lock down. In roads jammed with traffic, drivers curse, honking horns uselessly at the delays up ahead. Commentators chatter incessantly on car radios, breaking in with any and every detail on the hunt for the FBI agent who murdered the US Attorney General. They're calling her a terrorists, wanted in connection with the deaths of 14 CIA agents and a US Senator. There is talk of her being a Russian spy. Men shake their heads at the hype. Mothers head to schools to retrieve their children and hug them close. The terror has come home and instinctively they seek to shield their offspring.

Drivers are angry. Frustrated at the slow crawl and I.D. checks by police demanding paperwork. The afternoon is hot in the city, a fact that is fraying worn tempers further as car air conditioners work overtime. Pedestrians are not spared the inquisition. Stopped at street corners, their credentials are checked before they pass through road blocks. Phones are everywhere, held high in hands as the activity is snapped on their cameras, posted to YouTube, Twitter and Tumblr for the world to see. The city is a gridlock of cars full of irritated drivers late getting to their destinations. Full of laughing youth who are reveling in the change in their dull routines, some glad of the excuse to be officially late somewhere. The steady hum of car engines and radio announcers is punctuated with the whir of FBI, news and police choppers flying overhead. It is obvious they are hunting for someone.

In the midst of it all, Ressler sits alone in his FBI issued, shiny black SUV. His thoughts still linger in the underground bunker and their escape tunnel. As he'd known, there was no sign of them at the tunnel exit. No clues. In front of his SUV the black SWAT van is stopped, effectively blocking his view of part of the mayhem outside. And he's glad of it. He has long since slammed his palm onto the volume dial on the radio, shutting off the voice of the announcer. He doesn't need to hear it. He's living it. He doesn't need to hear his partner's name dragged through the mud on the radio, discussed among the talking heads. It's the one thing he can shut off. The sound of the radio announcers may be gone, yet it doesn't silence the relentless commotion of thoughts careening through his brain.

The mass of law enforcement swirls around him at the roadblock ahead as he stops himself at the last second from punching the horn. They're taking too long to clear a path through the traffic jam. With another clench of his jaw he throws open the door, jumps out and flashes his badge to the police officer using a large mirror to look under vehicles.

"Donald Ressler, FBI. What's the hold up?"

"We've got a truck stalled with an overheated engine on the next block. Tow truck is en-route to clear it. Let me see what I can do." The officer nods to Ressler then reaches for the mic pinned to his shoulder, calling his colleagues.

"We got FBI and SWAT back here trying to get through. Make a hole for these guys, okay?"

With a nod to the cop, Ressler climbs back into his vehicle to wait while they make this mythical hole. His phone rings, startling him from his focus. It's probably Reven Wright demanding her update and gripping it tightly he answers.

"Ressler."

Samar's voice fills his ear as his eyes settle on a distant point of a multi-story building, lifting his eyes from street level. "We've sealed off the area surrounding the exit tunnel from the bunker and have units on site processing the scene. We're looking for witnesses, but nothing yet. Where are you?"

Frustration evident, he answers her. "Going nowhere apparently," he scowls, then addresses what she's said. "Check everything and everyone you can find. Someone had to see something." That's what he tells her, but he knows differently. They won't find any evidence in that tunnel or with anyone near it. When it comes to hunting Reddington, you may as well be hunting a ghost. There is no evidence. Eye witnesses are almost nonexistent and when present are completely unreliable. He sighs as his eyes close momentarily against the sunlight and distant memories. Reddington – and Liz – he still has to keep reminding himself of that fact, disappeared right under their noses. Samar is speaking again as his eyes open and land on the stopped SWAT van and hive of activity surrounding him.

"Hang on, I think we have something. Aram?"

There is a flurry of voices on the line, Arams first and foremost before Samar raises the phone again to speak to him. "Units have located an abandoned MPDC vehicle 17 blocks from the exit tunnel near the tavern. It doesn't match the plate numbers of any official vehicle," she answers, as he again hears Aram in the background.

"Roll two additional units to that location," Ressler tells her, exercising his authority from the driver seat of an SUV stuck in a traffic jam. Samar turns away from the phone to pass that on to Aram.

Ressler shakes his head as he listens. Reddington always was three steps ahead of him and it's starting all over again. He was done with that part of his life. Done with chasing the criminal across the world. And now it's landed right back on his doorstep again. Right back in his lap. But it's not the same. He knows Reddington now. He knows his partner better though and closes his eyes again at that thought.

"They're on their way," Samar tells him as he grips the phone.

He scowls. They'd better get through traffic quicker than he is. "Did they lift any prints off it? Was it Reddington and Keen?"

"They only just started processing it, but so far there are no prints. I mean, none at all. And that in itself clearly indicates an attempt to cover the identity of the driver and passenger. It's reasonable to assume they used it to make their getaway from the vehicle transporter after they left the 3rd Street tunnel, and quite possibly from the tavern," she answers.

He licks his lip and nods. Of course it's reasonable to assume. It's exactly what Reddington would do. Hide in plain sight among the throng of law enforcement. Ahead of him the black van resumes its slow progress and shoving his vehicle back in gear, Ressler follows.

"It was them alright. Let me know if they find anything and keep your ears out for anything else that comes in on that tip line. The tavern tip was solid." He spares no pleasantries and hangs up before she can reply. Ahead, the road opens up before him as an officer waves them through on a side access road. And picking up speed he drives, following the black van in front of him. Yet his drive alone offers no respite from the clamor in his brain and the overwhelming guilt that is consuming him.

The officer's question from earlier in the day comes back to him. ' _Is it true what they say? That she was your partner?'_  That officer never knew how close he came to being decked. His knuckles are white as they grip the steering wheel. His jaw painfully reminding him to let up on the clenched teeth.

"I should never have let you go," he says aloud to no one. "I should never..." his voice fades and he's back in the access tunnel at the post office as red strobe lights flash. She's in front of him and he's again lost in her eyes, her perfume and her closeness.

His personal need had overridden what he should have done. He hadn't arrested her. He had kissed her. Been held prisoner by those eyes and what she meant to him before letting her go. And now they were all paying the price for his lapse in judgement.

He had begged her not to make him do this. Yet he's well aware he is the one who has done this to himself.

###

Still following the SWAT vehicle, his phone rings again a few minutes later as he fishes it out of his pocket, eyes half on the phone and half on the traffic.

"Ressler."

"Ress," Liz whispers, startling him as he was expecting to hear Samar. His one hand on the steering wheel grips it tighter.

"What the hell…?" Common sense prevails and he finds a pull off on the road, coming to a stop in the parking lot of a convenience store.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

He ignores her. "Where the hell are you? I've got half of DC shut down looking for you." But as soon as he's said it, he knows it's a waste of time.

"I can't…" she starts, but he cuts her off.

"You can't tell me. I know. You also know that I have to ask." He keeps the engine running, needing the AC right now. Behind the convenience store a large elm tree hangs over it. His eyes rise and settle on it, finding solace in the greenery, seeing, yet not focusing.

"I'm in a bathroom."

"Oh." Not quite what he was expecting.

"Just got done taking a shower."

He pauses and try as he might, his mind goes there.  _Damn it. Focus._  Why is she telling him this? "Okay." He can't say any more as his mind struggles off the scene it insists on playing.

"I look a little different now."

"Really?" She's telling him something, but not being specific. He should ask what she means. But he can't as she changes the subject.

"You don't sound good..." She almost adds his name to the end of her sentence, he can sense it.

"You can't tell that on a phone call…Keen." He almost calls her Liz, but to do so is too close. Too personal and she's anything but close to him right now.

She actually chuckles, and at the sound his heart skips a beat. "I can, actually. I can imagine you gripping the phone, looking upward but not seeing."

She's nailed it.

"And now you're, dipping your head, licking your bottom lip."

Damn, is she watching him?! He looks up. Meets his own eyes in the rearview mirror.

"I heard you at the tavern. I heard the anger in your voice and the tight control behind it."

"Yeah, well. It's not a good day, okay?" he says shortly.

"For me either." Her voice is soft, yet he can hear the strain behind it.

And suddenly he's angrier. But not at her. He put them both in this position when he didn't arrest her escaping the Post Office. His breath hisses through clenched teeth.

"This isn't your fault," she says.

"Of course it is. I let you go. You never could have kill-"

"You didn't make me shoot Connolly."

"Dammit, Liz." And now he says her name, gritting his teeth. "Do you have any idea what…?" He stops. Catches his breath. "Samar knows I let you go. Aram thinks I'm a jerk. And you know what? He's right." And he's telling her. Why is he telling her?

"I'm sorry," she tells him.

"Are you?" And there he goes, being a jerk again as he struggles to control the anger inside him.

"I don't like this any more than you do," she says, her voice a little stronger.

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

She actually laughs. Apparently hearing his voice is helping her feel better. "I told Red that same thing just an hour ago."

"Yeah? What was…?" He stops. "You know what, I don't wanna know."

"I need to go. I've been in here too long and he'll wonder where I am."

"I know how he feels."

She realizes what she's said. "Yeah, right."

He knows the call can't be traced and there is no point lingering to hold her there. He doesn't hang up on her though. He can't.

"Ress," she whispers, softly saying his name now.

"Yeah?" his voice is low. His eyes close listening to her in his ear. Shutting everything else out.

"You need to talk to Cooper."

"Don't you think I've done that?"

"I don't mean question him about his involvement. I mean, tell him. TALK to him. He'll understand," she says, and he can hear the determination in her voice.

"I'll take that under advisement." There is no way he can tell Cooper he let her go and admit he was complicit too.

"Talk to him, Ress."

He's about to reply, shaking his head on the phone when she hisses, "I gotta go!"

And she's gone as the line goes dead. His heart is hammering and all he's done is talk to his partner.

_You need to talk to Cooper._  Her words ring in his ears. He slowly lowers the phone and opens his eyes, looking up at his reflection again. He knows what is hiding behind his eyes. Guilt. Overwhelming, gut wrenching guilt.

His phone buzzes, startling him and for a split second he hopes it is Liz again, yet also hopes it isn't. "Ressler"

Reven Wright is looking for him and gives him an update on the status of Cooper and his wife.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm almost back." And with another glance at his eyes that are hiding the fact he just spoke to the FBI's most wanted, he hangs up on his superior, shoves the SUV in gear and heads the few blocks back to the post office.

And while he's driving, he reaches a decision. His partner may be on the run and a fugitive yet she also knows him. She's right. He enters the building and deliberately takes a detour on his way to see Reven Wright, and with his partner's words ringing in his ears he goes and talks to Cooper.

###

Two hours later, he's sitting in the car at the northern end of the blockade. Tracking the van Liz was transported in has turned up nothing despite the teams out on the streets looking. More leads haven't panned out. Sightings of Liz have turned up negative, resulting in them frisking people that just look like her. He should be out there on foot joining them. Yet he sits alone as his thoughts swirl and can still hear Liz's voice from her call to him. And in another phone call, his conversation with Reddington near the abandoned van keeps replaying in his head. He returns again and again to what the criminal had said.  _'What you know about her. What you feel about her…'_  Reddington knows.

Understanding settles in his brain. He's not chasing Reddington. That much is clear now. As far as Reven Wright and the taskforce are concerned, they are chasing Reddington and Liz. Yet Reddington is now his ally in keeping her safe from harm. Reddington has become his silent partner and both of them will play their roles. On the surface they will be hunter and hunted. Yet below it, he knows Red will let him know what he needs to do to keep Liz safe. Staring ahead silently, he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and fishes it out to answer it. Samar had said she would check in.

"Ressler," he answers, still distracted.

It's not Samar.

"Ress. I want you to know I'm sorry. I don't know what else-"

"Where are you?" He can hear the despair in her voice. She's lost and alone without Reddington.

"Please know that I'm sorry, Ress," she tells him and has hung up before he can even reply. It takes a full minute before he lowers the phone from his ear and drops it into his inner jacket pocket. Her phone is untraceable. There is no knowing where she is and where the phone call came from.

He's given his word to Reddington. He will give Liz every benefit of the doubt. He has to bring her in, but it doesn't mean he can't still listen to her and help her. He just needs to find her in order to bring her in and help her. He's still sitting in thought, rubbing his fingers together absently, reliving the sound of her voice in his ear when Samar climbs back in the car.

Their strain has lessened throughout the day, yet he feels her wariness around him. He looks to Samar and talks to her as they try and ascertain where Liz might be within the blockade.

"Whose gonna harbor an international spy?" he asks her calmly yet inwardly he can hear Liz's desperate voice.

"That's it. A spy. Her mother was a Russian spy."

"Son of a…" he guns the engine and heads for the Russian Embassy. That's what she was sorry for.

As they round the corner he sees the blonde hair flying from under the grey hoodie. It's not her hair. But it's her. He'd recognize that walk. That stance – recognize her – anywhere.  _'I look a little different'._  Her words make sense now.

She's running again at the sound of their sirens. Unable to park any closer to the gate he slams the SUV into park and exits, running after her. Gun drawn, he's gaining on her as her blonde hair flies loose of her grey hoodie. She can't reach that gate! Yet he can't get to her in time. And as she climbs his hand slams into the metal gate uselessly.

She's escaped his clutches and as she drops onto the other side of the gate, he knows what she's going to say. He can already hear her words before she opens her mouth. Her phone call makes sense.  _'I don't know what else to…'_

She might be giving herself up to the Russians, but she had apologized to him first. As her words reach his ears, all he can hear is him giving his word to Reddington. And now he can't keep his word. Can't keep her safe. Can't give her every benefit of every doubt. She's on foreign soil.

His eyes lock with hers as he shakes his head in disbelief. And behind her words "My name is Masha Rostova!" he can hear the pain. His eyes can't let go of hers. It's all he can hold of her.

_Liz no. Don't. Don't do this._ Unable to speak momentarily, his thoughts beg her.

She's so close he can reach through the gate and touch her.

Yet she may as well be a million miles away.


	2. I Can't Let Her Go

_I am LOVING Season 3! Even though our Keenler are apart, we are getting so much Ressler screen time and all I can say is - about time! He was sadly ignored far too much in Season 2. I am hoping this is Ressler's/Diego's year to shine in our show! So, we picked up Episode 3x02 right where we left off, with Liz inside the Embassy and Ressler prowling around outside. My chapter here starts a few scenes later, right after Ressler has stopped the Cabal killing her by crashing into their vehicle and watches her as she runs from him._

* * *

The sound of distant sirens reaches Ressler's ears over the roar and throbbing that's pounding through his head. As the sun beats down, he supports himself against the roof of the wrecked car and gulps in warm, humid air. Liz is running from him. And while relief floods over him, he's still not used to the sight of her running from him. It's foreign. It's a little unnerving, if he's honest. And he's even a little disturbed by the fact that he called her name and she never stopped. Never even looked back.

And though he understands why she's running from him, that doesn't ease the frustration. She is not aware the helpful yet deceitful Russians were delivering her to her death. All she saw was her maniac partner ramming into her vehicle with his own. His actions would have clearly signaled to her that he was trying to stop and arrest her without heed for her health, safety and wellbeing. Or his own, for that matter, as evidenced by his own back muscles demanding to know what the hell just got thrown at them.

Yet there is one truth his mind clamps onto and won't let go. Despite the fact she thought he was trying to kill her - she had still shot the driver and saved his life. They had just saved each other's lives.

_And that's why we're partners…_

This is more than likely going to blow up in his face because he's single handedly just launched an unprovoked attack on a Russian convoy. But the thought that sustains him as his head explodes in the heat is that Liz has escaped their clutches. An international incident is almost a welcome side effect, just to see her running from the Russians and Cabal. He slides a little as a gasp escapes his lips and sweaty hands grip the roof of the car a little more. He's melting in the heat. He doesn't exactly have the right complexion for this type of weather, he rues.

She's almost at the top of the road, running uphill between parked cars as fast as she can as he hears sirens approaching his location. He could have followed if he'd started running right away. Yet he had held back. Partly because he was gasping for air and overheating under his vest. But mostly because he's unsure if she's safer with him right now or with Reddington. And in the absence of any concrete evidence in her favor on his part, he's willing to let her go back to Reddington – again.

His thoughts are interrupted as the SUV with its sirens wailing screeches to a halt behind the wrecked car he's still leaning against. Samar clambers out of the driver's seat, yelling at him before she's even slammed the door.

"Ressler! What the hell was THAT?!"

THAT, as she is so eloquently demanding, was him saving his partner's life. With immense relief he's thankful that Samar's attention is wholly on him and not on the running figure further up the road who has just darted out of sight into the next street. Liz is safe for now. Reddington will find her and protect her, of that he's certain.

He doesn't answer her. Doesn't want to hear it from her right now. That, and the minor fact that if he lets go of the car his legs aren't making any promises they'll keep him on his feet. She's looking in the shattered car windows now, taking in the sight of the dead driver near him and the slumped passenger in the back seat.

"Don't open the doors," he tells her, trying to control his breathing.

The look she throws him has the potential to cool him down on the spot. Could make him downright frigid in fact, but he turns away as she speaks.

"I for one, am well aware that is still Russian soil. What happened here?" Her voice is even, yet he can hear the undeniable anger behind it. "We had our orders. A diplomatic solution. Do you remember that?" she asks him.

He turns slowly, sweat trickling down his face while still leaning his weight on the car chassis.

"Yes." It's all he can manage through his pounding headache and the raging heat behind his eyes, yet in one momentary glimmer of satisfaction he sees her fuming at his complacency.

"Do you have any idea what the repercussions will be from this?!"

"There was a-" He's going to tell her there was a reason, but he stops, blinking hard as sweat trickles in his eyes. He leans his head down on his arms, wiping the sweat out of his eyes with his sleeves as he leans heavily against the roof of the car.

"You killed these guys?" she interrupts, apparently oblivious to, or perhaps deliberately ignoring Ressler's discomfort. She peers in the broken window door across from him to check out the guy slumped in the back seat. "Damn it, because if you-"

"No," he cuts her off, still leaning on the vehicle and breathing heavily as he raises his head again and meets her eyes. "I didn't."

Her eyes narrow and he sees the disbelief. "Then who did?" But as she walks back around to look in at the vacant seat covered in broken glass behind the dead driver, she doesn't need Ressler to answer that question.

"Keen killed them?"

Likewise, Ressler doesn't need to answer her question. He turns a little as his torso complains loudly under his Kevlar vest. His head is pounding, but his legs are still doing their job at least.

"Where is she? I know she was sitting right here," Samar asks.

He wants to remind her that HE is HER superior and she doesn't need to school him and keep giving him the third degree. And he would definitely do that - if he felt better.

"I don't know," he tells her. And he's really not lying because he technically doesn't know where she went, but Samar sees right through it.

"You don't know? You did it again, didn't you?" she tells him, leaning closer as she lowers her voice. "You may be in charge, but I can't trust you to do what we need out here. You tore strips off Aram, demanding he look you in the eye and tell you that he could do his job. And here you are, NOT doing yours!"

Ressler turns to look at her, blinking fast against the sweat dripping in his eyes. "Are you done?"

She looks firmly at him and then as if finally realizing she's overstepped her mark with her Director, sighs and turns away from him. Dropping to the guy that's out cold at Ressler's feet, she holds her hand to his jugular.

"This one's still breathing at least." She walks out to the center of the deserted roadway and looks around their location, but Liz is nowhere in sight.

Still leaning against the car, he turns his back on the dead driver to face her. He needs to get out of here and tries to take a step. And soon realizes that moving was a mistake because he's now let go of the car and is looking directly into the sun as his head swims.

As he sways, Samar's voice changes. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. I'm fi-" His legs suddenly renege on their promise as he slides down the vehicle to find himself sitting on the road beside the guy he knocked senseless. He's not fine. His head is pounding in the heat and the road lurches in his view as a wave of dizziness washes over him. In front of him now, her hand reaches for his forehead as she leans down to him, but he swats it away.

Liz can do that for him. Samar cannot.

"Just need a minute," he pants, wishing she'd just leave him alone. But she is doing one good thing. Having moved in front of him she is blocking the sunlight falling on his face and offering a brief respite from the glaring sun.

Her radio squawks and lifting it from her pocket she answers. It's the SWAT commander on scene at the Embassy.

"Hold your positions for now and await further instructions."

Ressler doesn't see her looking at him in concern and only hears her pause before she continues. "But I do need a medic here." She looks up at the street signs and gives the guy their location.

Ressler interrupts her. "They're already dead. We don't need a medic…" he pants.

"It's not for them," she tells him pointedly as he opens his eyes and looks up at her standing in front of him before quickly closing them. The road is still swaying and she's swaying right along with it.

"I'll be fine. Just got too hot." But he's actually not sure why he feels this bad. Is he that out of shape?

"Wait here," Samar tells him, then jogs back to her car, bathing him in sunlight again.

"Not going anywhere," he tells her fleeing form.

She's back quickly and thrusts a bottle of water in his hand, then opens another one, wets a cloth and hands it to him. She knows better than to try and touch him again.

"Thanks," he tells her wiping the wet cloth on his hot face. It feels better. As he pulls it off him he sees the smear of blood. He didn't know he'd cut his forehead. Sipping on the water, he leans back on the car as another black SUV pulls up beside the wrecked car he's leaning on. The medic exits the car and makes a beeline for Ressler.

"Sir, what are you symptoms?" he asks quickly.

"I'm fine. Just overheated," he tells the medic. Well, that and the minor fact he slammed his SUV into a moving car a few times, got shot at, beaten up by an angry Russian and all that in about 100 degree heat.

"Uh, huh," the medic answers, well aware of the two damaged cars around them while getting ready to check his vitals. "Let me be the judge of that. Undo your vest here, okay?"

Ressler doesn't answer him but pulls the Velcro straps open on his vest for the medic's stethoscope. The heat is stifling under it as the medic begins to check him.

"When was the last time you ate or drank?" the medic asks briskly while checking his blood pressure.

Ressler can't remember. But then realizes it's been a couple of days. With everything that's happened, he hasn't needed or wanted to stop and eat. "Tuesday…"

"Well, there you have it," The medic shakes his head as he puts his stethoscope away. "No one can operate in this heat without food or water. Not even tough FBI agents, right? Sometimes people are their own worst enemies," he tells Ressler as he applies a band aid to suppress the minor bleeding on his forehead.

In a moment of déjà vu, Ressler actually smiles. "Your name isn't Shanks, is it?"

"No, why?" the medic asks, now taking Ressler's temperature.

"No reason."

The medic checks the temperature, then tosses the thermometer into its case before closing his kit. "You'll be fine, sir. Your temperature is up two degrees though, so keep getting fluids into you. And I suggest you take the rest of the day off and get some rest."

Samar chuckles at that. "Good luck with that."

"Think you can stand up, sir?" But Ressler is already climbing to his feet as the dizziness eases and his legs decide they've remembered how to work. Holding onto his arm as Ressler stands, the medic looks into his eyes.

"You okay?"

"I'm good, thanks," Ressler replies, still sipping on the water but really wanting to get out of this heat and cool down somewhere.

"Come on, I have the car running with the AC on, so let's get you in there," Samar tells him, and he's struck by how kind she actually sounds. Apparently she's not always a bitch. He drops his head at that. They're each handling this situation in their own way and that is her way. His is to be an angry hot-headed jerk, something he's been excelling at, while Aram's is to naively believe in the innocence of everyone no matter how dire the evidence looks.

He walks to the car with the medic's support but he's fine. He can walk okay now that the dizziness is subsiding and the hot pounding in his head dials back a notch. He glances up the road in the direction Liz was running, before dropping into the passenger seat of the cool vehicle. The cold air feels wonderful on his wet shirt.

"You take care, and remember, keep drinking, get some food into you and get some rest in a cool place," the medic reiterates, then looks up at Samar who is standing beside him.

"I'm going to check these guys out," he tells her, motioning back to the vehicle.

As the medic walks off, Samar walks to the driver's door, but stops at the medic's voice. "We got a live one here!" he calls back, his hand on the neck of the slumped driver. Reaching to his pocket, he's already calling the ambulance before Samar reaches him.

A few minutes later, she climbs back in the car beside Ressler and looks at him. As he meets her eyes he discerns she is about to say something, then sees her change her mind. He already knows what it is. He could lie and tell her he didn't feel well enough to run and catch up to her. But she's a woman - she'd see right through it.

He meets her eyes squarely. "Yes, I let her go again."

She nods. "I know. I also know how hard this is for you." He's surprised at how calm her voice is now. "And I'm sorry that it's this hard. But I also know you well enough to know you're going to keep doing your job and bring her in. But only when the timing is right. Only when we have evidence to support her. I understand that. But at some point, you have to stop letting her go to Reddington."

He doesn't say anything as he sits and lets the cool air blow over him. She'd make a good profiler. She and Liz are the same in that. But she's not Liz. He simply nods, then asks for her radio.

As she hands it to him, he presses the mic to talk to the SWAT and FBI teams still at the Embassy. "This is Ressler. I need units to respond to the address the medic was just dispatched to. Keen is on foot. Seal up this entire area." He releases the mic button and hears the reply.

"Roger that. We'll get units there and fan out right away."

He doesn't reply and hands her the radio again. She looks at him silently, knowing that while he has reported it, the information is about ten minutes old.

"My job isn't to listen to my gut. My job is to uphold the law," he tells her and sighs deeply as he leans back on the headrest. "And I intend to do that." If he says it often enough, perhaps he will believe it. Because therein lies his conflict. His desire to do both. And he can't do both because it doesn't work that way. All he can do is go through the motions.

"Right," Samar replies, then gets out of the car again as the first SWAT car arrives on scene and explains the status of the dead and injured to the commander as his men form a perimeter. "Seal the immediate area of the vehicles until we can have a rep from the Russian Embassy get here."

She climbs back in the car. "Let's get you back to the Post Office. And on the way, we're going to stop at a diner I like and get some food into you. And then I'd really like to hear what the reason was that made you do this."

He doesn't argue. She might not be Liz, but right now she does have his best interest at heart. He simply nods and as the car begins to move, he takes a last look up the road still seeing the fleeing figure of Liz in his mind's eye.

###

Fifteen minutes later they sit in a rear booth of a diner with half consumed hamburgers and fries in front of them. As Ressler eats, he discovers he's actually ravenous. With their Kevlar vests in the vehicle, they aren't quite so official looking, yet people in the diner eye them a little nervously. Talk of a rogue FBI agent who is actually a Russian spy has people on edge. Whispers and glances surround them as people surreptitiously move to tables with a little more distance from them. And while doing his best to ignore the fear in the eyes around them, Ressler wolfs his food down in order to get done. After a few more minutes of the silent inquisition, they pay the bill and exit to head back to the Post Office.

As Samar drives, he looks out the window, looking yet not seeing. He's back in the driver's seat of the SUV, slamming it into the Russian vehicle as he relives the moment that Liz's eyes caught his. She was afraid of him. Not necessarily of him, but of what he was doing.

"Are you good?" Samar suddenly asks.

His mind rushes back to the present as he gives her a quick nod. "I'm fine. We need to get someone out at the hospital when that Russian driver is able to speak."

They pull into the parking garage before making their way to the yellow elevator. While he may have cooled down, all Ressler wants to do is get out of these grimy, sweaty clothes, shower and feel more human again.

###

And not 10 minutes later he has achieved just that. Stepping from the shower and wrapping the towel around him, he automatically looks at his phone in his locker. There is a missed call on it. And even before he looks at the number he knows who called. The entire time he was in the shower he couldn't see past Liz's scared eyes looking at him from the back seat. Hand now dry, he picks up his phone and looks at the number. He recognizes it from her calls the previous day.

He dresses quickly, not taking time to do up his tie completely or toss his jacket on. He knows what he needs to do and grabs his phone. He can't call, just in case. But he can text.

[I am here now] is all he types, and then waits. The locker room is empty and positioning himself at the rear of the area where he can see the door, he grips his phone. If she can call him now, it's safe. He needs to speak to her, because-

He doesn't finish his thought when his phone lights up and there is the number again. "I'm here," he answers quietly, feeling like he's playing hooky in the bathrooms. Which is pretty much exactly what he is doing.

Her voice is strained and taut. "I need to know. Red told something, but I need to hear it from you."

He already knows what she needs. "I wasn't trying to hurt you. I can promise you that. I was trying to save your life," he tells her quietly, eyes locked on the door.

"It looked like-"

"I know what it looked like. Those Russians were taking you to the Cabal. They would have killed you, Liz. I couldn't let them do that."

"That's what Red said. I needed to hear you tell me that too, Ress."

He holds the phone tight, eyes still on the closed door across the room. "I couldn't let you go. And I certainly couldn't let them kill you."

"I know," she takes a quick breath, both of them recalling his holding his weapon on the vehicle. "That was pretty clear."

He hears her breath panting now, hears a sniffle. "Don't…" he says softly, willing her not to break down.

"I don't know if I can do this," she tells him shakily.

"Yes you can. We have to. When in doubt, just tell me something like I'm making it worse and I should listen to what Reddington says. Then I will know you're holding it together with his help."

He grips the phone trying to ease her fears. And as much as he wants her to be right there with him he has to remind himself of why he let her run again. "Right now you're safer with him." He doesn't say Reddingtons name out loud in the public room, even though it's empty. "I need you to be safe, understand?"

"I do," she replies unsteadily, "but Ress, I hate this."

He does too but at that moment the door opens to the locker room and another agent steps in. Ressler turns slightly, head dipped. "But I have to go. Be strong." And as much as he hates to not wait for her reply, he hangs up and slips his phone in his pocket. He's been in here too long and hurries to the door, only to almost barge into Reven Wright as he steps into the hallway, still straightening his tie.

She doesn't miss a step on seeing him exit the locker room as they round a corner. "Agent Ressler, what part of 'stand down' don't you understand?" she asks him briskly as they walk toward the war room.

"I was ordered to let Keen go and I did," he replies pointedly slipping one arm into his suit jacket. "I wasn't ordered to let her die."

As he's talking to Wright, all he can hear is Liz trying not to break down on the phone. On the outside he's calm and in control, hiding the turmoil racing through his tight chest. Liz is vulnerable and lost. And no wonder. She has no one she can trust.

As Aram gives them a new tip location at the Del Rio Diner, all Ressler can focus on is that he hopes Liz knows she can trust him.

###

In a bathroom half way across town, Liz washes her face after hanging up from her partner. She had doubted his motives as he had rammed into the vehicle. She hadn't trusted him. She should have known he would never hurt her.

And the thought that she has already slipped so far away from everything and everyone she knows to have believed him capable of that overtakes her. The tears that she had held back while hearing his voice flow and mingle with the warm tap water.

"Ress…" she whispers his name as she breaks into sobs, hands to her face. Leaning forward, all she can hear is him promising her that he hadn't tried to hurt her. That he couldn't let her go. And she's not sure she can do any of this right now, but has to. For his sake as well as hers.

"Come on, pull it together," she chides herself, willing the tears to stop. And with her partner's voice in her ear, she wipes her tears away and looks at her reflection.

"You can trust him."


	3. Team Red

_So I wanted to do a little add on chapter to 3x02 Marvin Gerard. At the end of the episode, Red and Liz have disappeared under their noses and Ressler walks into his office and sits down staring at the photos of Marvin Gerard. I look at that scene and can't help but wonder what is going through his mind…_

* * *

If Ressler had a $1 for every time Reddington had outsmarted him, he'd be a rich man. It's infuriating. It's frustrating. It's a little degrading. But he's actually used to it. Of all the things that one can grow accustomed to in life, perhaps being one (or two, more likely three) steps behind Raymond Reddington isn't the worst thing that can happen to him. Being one, (or two, or three) steps behind Liz is much harder to take.

And whose fault is it that she's flown the coop with Reddington, he berates himself. His. He let her run off after the car wreck. Deliberately let her go so she could flee back to the criminal. It's a tough call, but he still believes it was the right - only - call. There are three parties involved. Red and Liz, himself and the Bureau, and the Cabal. And as much as he admires the FBI and has to look like he wants to haul her in, he knows they don't have the resources to shield Liz from the Cabal like Reddington does. And so he sent her back to Red.

He looks at the screens in the war room with Samar and Aram flanking him and folds his arms, shakes himself off mentally and addresses his coworkers.

"The owner's gone, the lawyers gone, and Red and Liz are gone," he tells them thoughtfully, stating the obvious.

Samar is sitting at her desk. "Why would he go to all this trouble, risk everything, just to free Marvin Gerard?"

Ressler doesn't have an answer for that. He's never had answers to most things Reddington has done for years. He shakes his head and addresses Aram. "Put the word out. They're in the wind and we're back to square one."

He sighs at that prospect before turning and heading back to his office with the photo of Marvin Gerard in his hand. He's well aware he can stare at the image of Marvin Gerard all night long and it won't tell him where Red and Liz disappeared to. It won't offer up that one critical piece of information he wants. But maybe it can tell him a little bit about Marvin himself.

Reaching his office he sits heavily in his chair, leaning back and never taking his eyes of the photo. Early to mid fifties, slim build, there is nothing remarkable about the man's appearance. He's an average Joe who would blend into any crowd. Perhaps that is one of the things Reddington finds desirable. But it's not what Marvin looks like. It's that lawyer brain of his that Reddington needs. He may be a whiny little bastard, but there is no denying Marvin Gerard is brilliant. Ressler has read his file and even feels a pang of sympathy over what happened to him regarding his son. The man didn't deserve that. A little bit like Liz…

_Liz…_

He drops the photo to his desk and stares into the distance, unfocused and seeing nothing for a moment. It's been a hell of a day. The standoff at the Embassy had been difficult. As the law enforcement had increased outside the gate, so had his own tension. The need to know what Liz was doing inside had consumed him. Was she being taken care of or was she being interrogated like a criminal? It had taken every ounce of control not to storm in there and take her back from the Russians. And at every word coming down the line from Reven Wright and the White House to stand down, his anger had grown.

_Fueled by an inner rage…_

At the sight of her getting in the car to leave with the Russians, he had finally snapped. No. He wasn't having that. They weren't taking her out of the country. They weren't taking her away from… him. He had stood in front of their vehicle and drawn his weapon with no thought to the short or long term consequences.

And as much as Samar might think she had talked him down with her litany of common sense, she hadn't. Liz had. He had looked past the driver and into the back seat and gazed at Liz in the dark interior of the car. It was her eyes. As her eyes had lifted and met his, he had realized he was actually scaring her. For a few unbearable seconds their eyes had locked; him with his weapon drawn and her desperate, silent plea to him from the car. He couldn't do that to her. Couldn't bear to be the one to invoke that look in her. And only then had he opted for the politically correct course of action and lowered his weapon and stepped aside.

But despite his not wanting to scare her, he had then rammed into her vehicle minutes later and convinced her he was a raving maniac out to kill her. Not the highlight of their day, for sure.

The highlight of his day had undoubtedly been the brief, hushed phone call while standing in the bathroom, needing her to understand he had been trying to save her life.

His gaze lands on her empty desk across from him. He avoids looking at it most of the time he's in here, because she should be sitting there working on reports and doing her job as an FBI agent. She should be right there, looking up at him with that little smile that sometimes crosses her features. This isn't his office. It's their office. And her desk sits empty as if waiting her return. His shoulders slump a little at the ever present knowledge that he doesn't see how she can ever return to that desk. He doesn't see that she can ever sit there looking up at him, smiling and talking to him ever again. It would take an act of God. An act of Congress.

Or an act of Reddington.

But Reddington can't do it alone. Not even the Concierge of Crime can pull this one off. His eyes drop to the photo of Marvin Gerard again. And understands. Reddington is assembling his team. With a rueful smile he is aware he's part of that team. Perhaps the first one to have been drafted in their quest to exonerate Liz. The Criminal. The Fugitive. The Boy Scout. The Lawyer. How many more draftees will we pick up along the way to join Team Red, he wonders, before Liz can sit across from him again.

Perhaps the Del Rio Diner owner is now part of the team. He doesn't know anything about the man or what possible use Red can have for a diner owner. Perhaps he just wants to be catered to. Nothing would surprise him. His mind returns to their arrival at the diner, where the first thing he'd noticed were the hostages against the windows. Actually, the second thing. The first thing on arrival had been Samar telling him it could be worse - it could be the diner they'd had lunch at. But what had struck him was that this wasn't Reddington's style. The man doesn't operate by plastering hostages against windows and using them as human shields. He doesn't use people that way. Not innocent bystanders at any rate.

And the entire time he'd been coordinating with SWAT and HRT outside, the gnawing feeling wouldn't let up. Something didn't smell right about the entire situation. And if he had listened to his gut instead of following procedure, he would have breached the building much sooner. His gut is telling him what he needs to know. He needs to stop ignoring it at critical times.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Samar startles him. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt," she tells him, then places a bottle of cold water on his desk before unscrewing the cap off her own bottle and leaning on the window ledge.

He thanks her for the water as he reaches for it. He knows she's keeping an eye on his fluid intake following his heated meltdown earlier that day. Pulling mom duty on him. But it's not going to kill him to let her.

"Aram and I have been going through the tips that have been coming in. They're drying up. Not nearly as many coming in now."

Ressler takes a swig of his water and looks at her. "They've flown the coop. They're no longer in the city."

"You think so? How could they get out of our blockade?" she asks.

He knows so. Ressler turns at the knock on his door to see Aram entering, laptop in hand, and doesn't answer Samar. Because he doesn't have that answer for her.

"Uh, guys, you're not gonna believe this. I just got a live feed from the teams at the Del Rio Diner and um," he stops then quickly places his laptop on the corner of Ressler's desk. "Let me just show you," he says as Samar comes around to look. "

"What is it?" Ressler asks, leaning forward in his chair as Aram hits the play button on some recorded video on his screen.

"This is how Mr Reddington disappeared."

As the video plays, the three of them lean close to the screen as the SWAT and FBI guys are in the small refrigerated room they had been in earlier that afternoon at the rear of the kitchens. Scanning the wall at the rear of the cold room, their scanner blips as it lands on the temperature control dial.

"I don't see-"

"Just watch…" Aram interrupts Samar, almost grinning at the both of them either side of him now, waiting for their reaction.

The temperature dial is raised on the screen to reveal a second panel under it. After running thousands of combinations through a device attached to it, several of the numbers flash.

"Whoa!" exclaims Ressler as the entire cold room begins to move downward on the video. "Son of a…"

Samar shakes her head at the screen. "It's an elevator!"

Aram is nodding, unable to hide his grin, despite the worry Ressler might chide him for that. "Slick, huh?" he says, as they watch the team reach the lower level of the elevator as the rear of the cold room opens to reveal a long, empty room. The video ends as several armed men storm through the underground room and through a large door at the back of the room.

"Unbelievable!" exclaims Samar, echoing all of their thoughts.

Ressler stands up and quickly pulls his phone out of his pocket to dial the lead agent on site at the diner. The video doesn't show it, but he needs to know what was beyond that door. It's one more step toward following Reddington and Liz.

He pats Aram's shoulder as he does so. "Good work. Both of you today," he tells them before quickly exiting to the war room as the agent on site answers.

Still standing in his office, Samar smiles at Aram. "He's back," she tells him as Aram nods, still grinning and picks up his laptop.

###

An hour later Ressler parks his car at his apartment building and walks through the underground tunnel leading to the elevators. Keys in hand, his mind is on two things. One - that the teams on site at the diner have come up with nothing so far in the elevator and underground room. And two - did he remember to feed Hudson this morning? He did, yes. He remembers now as those two beady little eyes had looked up at him as he'd opened the brand new bag of dog food. The irony is not lost on him. He'd almost collapsed today because he hadn't thought to feed and water himself, yet he's made sure that scruffy little dog has clean water and food in his (also brand new) bowl.

His mind is on Liz's dog as he hears a sound behind him. And there goes his gut, kicking into high gear. There is no ignoring it this time. His gun is drawn even before he's fully whirled around to face the person behind him. For some reason, he half expects it to be Reddington. Yet logic prevails as he tells himself that isn't possible. It's simply wishful thinking. And he's right. As he makes out the hooded figure at the end of the hallway he sees exactly who it is. And it's not who he had ever expected to see this close to his apartment.

"We need to talk."

Tom Keen's, or Jacob Phelp's, voice reaches him in the dim hallway. The correct protocol would be to keep his gun drawn on the man. Yet despite the fact he's wanted to rough him up more than once in the past there is no malice coming off the man. Standing with arms raised he is simply awaiting Ressler's next move. And since he's listening to his gut now and allowing it to start giving orders Ressler slowly lowers his weapon. Right now, this man is no threat.

He already knows why he's here and what - or who - he needs to talk about. Liz.

And standing in the hallway several feet from Tom/Jacob, Ressler has a feeling that Team Red has just grown by one and recruited a new member. The Undercover Operative.


	4. Bad Things Happen to Good People

_After the amazing first two episodes, I have to admit I felt a little let down with Eli Matchett, but then I know they can't just make the show about runlizzierun, and they do need Blacklisters. The parts we got that concerned the hunt for Liz and Red were great though. So my chapter starts at the end of their day as Ressler is placing the photo of Eli Matchett on their Liz board._

* * *

"There's something else," Samar tells Ressler, coming up behind him as he is standing at the board.

Something more than the shit that went down today with losing Liz and Red yet again, and being told to back off just for good measure he wonders, yet looks at her with no hint of frustration.

"We just got word Liz shot an undercover cop earlier today."

His heart lurches. That's the last thing he was expecting to hear. "What happened?" He's not so sure he wants to know, yet he needs to hear it.

"I'm not sure. The details are still coming in. But it does look like the guy's gonna make it," Samar adds, giving him and Aram what little information they have received.

Some relief finds its way under Ressler's tight chest at the thought that the body count has not increased by one. He turns from Samar, eyes boring into Liz's image on the board. She looks cold and heartless in the photo. The epitome of the KGB assassin that the media is determined to paint her as. The picture has never sat easy in his mind. Not when he sits across from her empty desk and can look up and imagine her small smile and easy flick of her hair. Hair that is now dyed blonde. In a random thought it occurs to him that he prefers her brunette. Not that his opinion means anything. Brunette Liz is his partner. The one who is by his side, running with him. Blonde Liz is the fugitive who runs from him. He's suddenly aware that Samar has said something else and turns back to her.

"Sorry, what?"

She gives him a small sympathetic smile, and in that moment he wants to just wipe it off her face as Tom Keen's words rush back to him.  _I know you care about Liz. You can act like you don't, but I know you do._ Is he really that transparent? Apparently so. He's going to have to work on keeping that under wraps. For everyone's sake.

"I said, I'll keep you posted if we get any more information," she tells him almost kindly, then nods and turns back to Aram who is still standing there as if he's been sucker punched in the stomach. Ressler knows how he feels.

Breaking away from the pair of them, he strides to his office and keys something into his computer. He finds what he needs fairly quickly and picks up his phone. As the line rings, he wonders briefly if they've all gone home, when someone finally answers.

"Fairfield Police Department."

Ressler pauses, almost hangs up, then proceeds. He needs this information for the task force, but more for himself. He puts his game face on.

"This is Assistant Director Donald Ressler of the FBI Counterterrorism Task Force. I need to speak to someone about an incident that occurred today regarding the fugitive Elizabeth Keen opening fire on an undercover officer."

###

Some time later he sits at his desk, information in hand. He's spent the past 40 minutes chasing down people in the Police Department, diner and ER at the hospital and all tell it the same. She shot him, but she also saved him. He expects nothing less from the Liz he knows. Yet why the hell did she shoot him in the first place? It's spinning out of control. It's only been 3 days, and death is following her from place to place. He needs to talk to her and takes out his cell phone, thumbing down through the numbers to where she had called him in Iowa. His thumb lingers over the number. He plays it safe and types a text to her. She can then choose to do what she wishes with the text.

[Call me at 9pm DC time if you wanna talk]

He hesitates. He'll be home by 9 and can talk to her in private – if she chooses to call. Her words from today hadn't bothered him all that much. It was what was underneath them. The tone, and the way she had hung up quickly. At Reddington's approach, he's certain. She's scared. And now she's shot a cop and will need someone other than Reddington to talk to. He looks up to her empty desk, pictures the scene at the ER in Fairfield as described by the medical staff, and hits Send.

And still focused on the events, he realizes he also needs someone to talk to. He can talk to Samar some, but it's more like an inquisition at times and with someone with far more poise and wit than he possesses. And every word spoken with Samar only manages to cement in his mind that she is NOT Liz. His partner's words fill his mind.  _Talk to Cooper._  With a nod, he picks up his phone again and punches another number on the speed dial.

"Harold Cooper."

Ressler is relieved to hear his voice. "Sir, if you're still over at headquarters how long are you going to be there?" he asks, hoping his former boss isn't about to walk out the door. He glances at the clock. 7:50pm.

"I'm not leaving yet. Come on over," Cooper replies, apparently already knowing what was behind Ressler's question. But then he didn't get to be the former leader of his task force without knowing where his agent's minds would be.

###

Following Cooper's directions, he locates his small cubicle in a corner of the FBI building. It's a sobering sight, seeing Cooper out of the Post Office and in this small niche, tucked away out of sight. Yet as Cooper welcomes him and they share a drink, he feels better with each word spoken and shared with his former boss. Unknown to Cooper, he tips his glass to Liz, as if in some small way she has contributed to this camaraderie they're sharing.

"How are things going, and I don't mean with the hunt for Reddington and Keen. I mean how are you doing with your new position?" Cooper asks.

Ressler shrugs, sips on his drink and sits on the edge of Coopers desk since the small cubicle doesn't come with a visitor's chair. "Well, it's rough being promoted under these circumstances. And on Samar and Aram too. And I can't blame them for that. Just a few days ago we were working side by side."

Just a few days. How can so much have changed in so little time? It's a thought that plagues him relentlessly. All of this hunting, following and tracking when just a few days ago she was at his side doing that. It isn't right and it isn't sitting well with any of them. It isn't sitting well with Liz either. That much has been clear in the brief moments of contact they have had.

Cooper nods, and smiles encouragingly. "From what I hear you've been doing a terrific job. Don't sell yourself short, Agent Ressler."

"Thanks. It's hard enough chasing Reddington, but then when he doubles back and re-enters the country, that opens up a whole new game. Reddington obviously thinks that he can take the fight to the Cabal. But look what happened. This time, Keen shot a cop," he tells Cooper, before voicing his real concern. "The next time, she's gonna be the one getting hurt."

And in a natural train of thought, his mind brings him back to his confrontation with Tom the night before. He's thought about it on and off throughout the day. And the longer he goes over it in his mind, he can't shake the damn feeling that Tom is right on one aspect - Liz really does need all the help she can get. But he's not comfortable, to put it mildly, in joining forces with Tom Keen. Apart from the fact the Acting Director can't accept the help of a known felon in an ongoing FBI investigation, with the file on Viktor Foken still open, it just doesn't sit right in his gut. He doesn't like the guy. Doesn't trust the guy as far as he can throw him. But on Team Red, Tom Keen can definitely fulfill a role, yet as Acting Director he can't go down that slippery slope and recruit him.

A word in the right ear though... It's a calculated risk, but he approaches it with feigned nonchalance. "Tom Keen came out of the woodwork," he tells Cooper, sipping on his whiskey, gauging his reaction coolly. Cooper reacts exactly as Ressler has anticipated. He makes his feelings known to Cooper. He can't trust the guy and he's a liability. Cooper shares his feelings implicitly. But Ressler has now put the word out that there is another pair of hands throwing their name into the ring. What Cooper chooses to do with that information is up to him entirely.

They talk, refill their glasses and share this time as the office around them is in darkness. "You made the right call," Cooper tells him as they continue their conversation on Tom Keen.

"Well, maybe this time. Other times, well, it was my call that led us to this, with Keen escaping in the first place," he says, looking at the ice in his glass as he holds it up.

"Don't second guess yourself. What's done is done and there's no going back and changing that. You can't dwell there and can only move on," Cooper replies, leaning forward in his seat.

Ressler meets his eyes over his whiskey glass. "You're right, I know. Just gets hard not to go there."

Cooper swivels slowly in his chair, and Ressler can see the man debating whether or not to say something.

"Donald," he says, and Ressler immediately pricks up his ears at the change. "Being the Director means you have to make some tough calls, as you're already finding out. It's hard sometimes. I want you to know something. If you ever feel that you're…not coping... my door is always open." He gives a brief sweep of his cubicle. "Well, if I had a door that is," he adds and smiles.

Ressler isn't sure, but he thinks he knows what Cooper is referring to. Yet he can't know. Liz never did tell their boss he was an addict. "Thank you, sir. Good to know." He takes a last swig of his whiskey, feeling the burn on his throat and places the empty glass on the desk.

Cooper rises from his chair. "Well, I'd better call it a night and get home before Charlene thinks I've been arrested." He pauses then lets out a brief chuckle. "A week ago that would have been humorous. Perhaps it's a little too soon yet," he shrugs, gathering up his briefcase from beside his desk.

Ressler looks at his watch. 8:42pm. He follows Cooper's lead and stands, rolling down his sleeves as he does so.

"I'll walk you out, Donald," says Cooper and the two men walk in an easy silence. The Acting Director and his mentor. Cooper may have felt he was in over his head, yet he is a damn difficult act to follow as Ressler is discovering.

"Actually, care to join us for dinner?" Cooper asks, turning to Ressler as he fishes his car keys out of his pocket.

"Thanks, but I'll pass," he tells Cooper, looking at his watch again. "I'll definitely take you up on that another time though, if the offer stands."

Cooper notices Ressler looking at his watch. "You got somewhere you need to be?"

Ressler doesn't miss a beat, shakes his head and grins and looks his Director (because he will always be that to him) squarely in the eye. "Not at all. I just have a hungry little dog waiting that will be needing to go outside by now," he answers.

"You got a dog? I didn't know that." Cooper raises his eyebrows at him as they descend in the elevator.

"Not exactly my dog." Ressler tells him, giving Cooper a small lopsided smile. "He's Keen's dog. Couldn't exactly leave him all alone."

Cooper looks at him and breaks into a broad smile. "Like I said, you're a good man, Donald."

And for a moment, Ressler smiles, accepting the compliment. Yet inwardly he knows he's lying to Cooper. Or at the very least, omitting some of the truth. Because it's not only Hudson who is waiting for him to get home by 9pm.

###

As Ressler walks along the hallway to the stairs of his apartment building he pauses and looks behind him. There is no figure stepping out of the dark. No Tom Keen, or anyone else for that matter, coming to talk to him. He turns and makes his way up the stairs, forcing himself to take them three at a time for the 4 floors. He's not getting enough exercise. He's not as in shape as he should be, as evidenced yet again today when the fight with Matchett had worn him out. And breathing heavily, he unlocks the door to his apartment and steps inside where he is greeted by a sleepy little dog shaking himself off and trotting toward him.

"Hey, little dude," he says to the dog before making his way to the kitchen. "Walk time will have to wait a bit." With one eye on his phone and one on the dog food he's pouring into Hudson's bowl, he stands in the kitchen and watches the dog eat.

It's 8:58pm. Loosening his tie, he then opens the fridge and grabs a beer. Cracking the can open, he gulps down a mouthful then looks at his phone again. It changes to 8:59pm as he's watching.

He sighs, pulls his tie off completely and unbuttons the top button on his shirt. Hudson finishes his meal and looks up at him, tail wagging.

"You want more? You'll eat me out of house and home at this rate," he tells the little dog. And right as he's reaching for the bag of dog food, his phone rings. It's 9:01pm.

"Ressler," he answers, just in case it's not Liz. But it is.

"Hey," she tells him, and while the word is casual, the tone behind it isn't. He can hear it in that one word.

"You hear what happened?"

He sits on his couch and leans forward with his beer in one hand, dropping his head with the phone to his ear. "I did, yeah, with the undercover cop."

"I think he's gonna die…" she says on the other end of the phone.

"No. He isn't. I spoke to the surgeon at the hospital he was airlifted to. He's gonna make it, Liz." He wants to add 'thanks to you', but refrains from that, knowing where she will take that.

"You spoke to him? And he's really okay?" she asks and already her tone is lighter.

"Yeah, did some detective work. Hunted down the right person." And suddenly he can't resist. "Because, you know, I'm good at hunting people down." And he's not sure why he says it but at least he has the temerity to add a touch of sarcasm to it.

"Riiiight," she replies, and for a moment he hears the smile in her voice. He answers her with a small, unseen half smile of his own.

"So, you didn't kill him, Liz. Your actions afterward saved his life. But I would like to know what happened," he says, watching Hudson come in and sit beside him.

"He had a gun on Red, then turned slowly as if to drop it, but then it came up and he was about to aim it at me. It was all so quick, and I fired," she tells him, her words spilling over themselves.

He's listening, and it's not so much to what she's telling him because eye witnesses at the diner had already told him that. He just needs to know she's being honest with him, and she is, he notes with relief.

"Did Reddington want to stay and help the cop today?" he asks her, already suspecting the answer to that.

"No, he didn't. He said we needed to leave, but I made him stay and help that man."

He nods, holding the phone close to his ear. "You see, you're not like him. Bad things happen to good people, and this situation you're in…we're in… is like a runaway train. But you can still jump off, Liz." He wants to tell her to just jump and he'll be there to catch her but the sound of her tears brings his head up.

"I don't know if I am a good person anymore."

"If you can come in we can still salvage this, Liz. Let me help you." It's the same response he always gives and while he knows she won't, he can't stop asking her to do that.

"I can't, Red and I, we have a job to do to get the Cabal to back off." She stops, both of them knowing what she had told him that day. "I need you to give us that space too."

"You think I haven't given you space?" He stands up and steps toward the window, looking out at the lights outside. "I let you go twice and stopped the Russians taking you to the Cabal. What more do I have to do to make you see that-"

 _That I care and I'm not doing my job right because of it._  But he can't tell her that.

"I know, and I do thank you for that," she replies.

He sighs, nodding to her even though she can't see that. "But I can't back off, Liz. The Bureau is going to be hunting you down, regardless of who leads the charge. So who do you want doing that? Someone who knows you, or some gung-ho agent trying to make a name for himself?"

"I know, I just…"

He waits for her to finish, but she doesn't. He sits back down and Hudson comes up to sit beside him, letting out a soft whine as he pushes his wet nose into his hand that's holding the phone.

Liz hears the sound. "What is that?"

Pushing the little dog aside gently and trying to appease him, Ressler replies. "That's your dog, telling me he needs to go outside."

He hears the sharp intake of breath from her. "Oh my gosh! You have Hudson?"

He could tell her that someone had to take responsibility. That someone needed to think beyond themselves. But it would sound petty. He has the dog because Liz isn't in a position to take care of him. Simple as that. Or so he tells himself, because the truth is he could have just taken him to Animal Control.

"Yeah, I do. I went and got him after… after you shot Connolly."

He stops at the sound of her tears increasing. "I told him today…"

He knows who she is referring to and lets her sobs continue in his ear. She needs this release.

"I told Red you were a good person. And you are." Her breath hitches and at the sound of her his arm finds Hudson and holds him against him. He's soft and warm and rests his chin on Ressler's thigh.

"You are too, Liz. Don't lose sight of that. Don't lose who you are."

"I'll try. This is hard. But I should go now." Her voice is stronger and he can almost see her wiping the tears and straightening up. "Thank you, Ress."

"No problem."

But it is a problem. With his hand on her dog, talking with her on the phone and listening to her saying goodnight as she hangs up, it's a huge problem. He is charged with hunting her down. And he realizes that what he had told her applies to him equally.

Bad things happen to good people.

He lowers the phone and looks at the sharp eyes that meet his. "Let's get you that walk, huh?" Hudson's tail wags at the sound of his voice. And as he stands and reaches for his jacket and keys with the small dog following eagerly, he knows why he has Liz's dog.

It is for himself as much as Liz. He needs this small part of her with him.


	5. You Can't Save Her

_So, I have to admit, I was extremely underwhelmed with The Djinn episode. Not enough Ressler after the amazing start we got with his new role in our changed universe. But there were moments in the episode that shone. And without doubt, the best one came at the 39 minute mark with Ressler and Samar looking at the Liz board. Such an amazing play of emotions across Ressler's face as Samar spoke. Wow! Kudos, Diego! So this chapter comes from that small scene with them._

* * *

The hour is late and the Post Office is quiet as Ressler sits at his desk, leaning back on his chair. At 1:16am, he is the only one remaining in the vicinity of the war room. Foregoing the Director's office - Cooper's office - he sits in the space he shared with his fugitive partner. The space he is sure will never see her face looking up at him from her desk again. It's only been a couple of weeks that she's been gone yet it feels a lifetime on this crazy merry-go-round of false leads and missed opportunities.

He should go home, knowing he can do no more here tonight. Yet each time he grabs his keys and rises from his chair he finds he can't do it and slowly sits down again. On one such attempt he ends up at the board staring at her photo surrounded by the odd assortment of characters Reddington has been in contact with since Liz ran. His eyes are inevitably drawn back to her photo. And the longer he looks at this cold stare from her, the more it's getting under his skin. She looks like a criminal. A murderer. And perhaps that makes it easier for his coworkers to hunt her down, but not him. Yet the mere suggestion of putting a more… likeable… photo of her will garnish weird stares from his coworkers. And really, would it be better, or even harder to look at her like that on the board. We should have a photo of her new blonde look though. That's something he can do legitimately.

' _You can't save her. You shouldn't even try.'_

Samar's words burn into his brain as he's standing at the board. To shut out her words, he returns to his chair and slumps back down. The official task that Reven Wright has given him is to find her, and that's also how Samar is tackling this, but it's not exactly what he intends to do. His additional purpose is to keep her safe and out of the clutches of the Cabal. Despite what Samar thinks - or doesn't think - he has very little choice in the matter. There is no way he can avoid trying to save his partner. Because, as much as it pains him to admit it, he's worried that Liz is all he has left. And without her…

Not even the job is enough. The job is now a means to an end. A vehicle in which he can be near her, find her and keep her safe. And up until today he's been pretty certain Reddington is his unasked for, yet necessary silent partner in their joint cause of keeping Liz safe. But something has changed. Reddington is supposed to be protecting her. Hiding her. He's supposed to be taking her far away from the Cabal and the pursuing FBI and SWAT, yet the son of a bitch isn't running with her. He's turned around and is on the offensive.

And after looking at it from all angles for hours sitting at his desk, Ressler is convinced that now he doesn't only need to save Liz from the Cabal. Today has made it very clear that he needs to save her from Reddington's crazy game plan. In Reddington's search for Liz's exoneration with the Cabal, the criminal has placed her right in the firing line.

Reddington is going to get her killed. The very thought of which feels cold around his heart and makes his stomach lurch.

He rises from his desk again, but this time it's not for the purpose of going out to the board or trying yet again to head home. His feet find their way to her desk and standing, his eyes run over the clean surface, so unlike the way she keeps it. Kept it. He hisses through his teeth, before pulling out her chair. He hesitates a moment, then sits down. Her chair is lower than his he notices, but then she's quite a bit shorter than he is. And that's all it takes. He can now see her beside him, how much shorter she is. Smaller, petite… and perfect. Of course he knows she's a beautiful woman who tries to downplay it at work. And there it is - that smile. He can see it clearly now as his eyes take on that far away look as he remembers. And beyond the smile he travels back to Sitka, to the back of an ambulance where she had sat beside him and supported him in his time of need.

And the thought comes unbidden. Who is going to support him now? In his mind her smile broadens and lights up the room. And he can see once more the smile she had cast his direction during their shared birthday dinner. Their date…

"Shit."

This isn't helping anything, yet his right hand finds the handle of her top drawer and quickly pulls it open. It's still there, empty and rolling a little in her drawer as he opens it. He almost lifts out the empty wine bottle but then common sense takes hold - but not completely. Instead of reaching for the wine bottle he fishes his phone out of his jacket pocket.

_Don't._

Yet he's not listening to common sense at 1:30am and dials her number again, wondering what the hell he is going to say at this hour of the morning. He should just hang up.

But the decision is taken away from him as he hears the recording. ' _This number is not in service.'_

She's changed burner phones, at Reddington's insistence, he's sure. He can no longer text or call her. Logic tells him this is safer for both of them, yet as his head drops to focus on her empty desk as he still sits in her chair, he's surprised at how bad that feels.

###

As he opens the door to his apartment 35 minutes later, Hudson greets him, his little body quivering at the speed with which he's wagging his tail.

"Come on," he tells the dog who scurries past him as they walk down to the lobby and out to the street. It's quiet with not much traffic at past 2am. A slight mist wafts around him. Rain is in the air, barely visible on the street yet forming a soft vapor in the glow of every street light around him. Crossing to a grassy area he stands on the footpath as Hudson waters every blade of grass and weed he can find, stopping only to fertilize some poor dandelions. And when done, they head back toward his apartment.

There is a park a couple of blocks down where he used to run every morning. That healthy habit went by the wayside when another addictive habit took over. He needs to find his running shoes, dust them off and get in better shape. The irony doesn't escape him as he lets out a grimace and a shake of his head. With Liz on the run, he needs to be able to run faster now.

Back inside, he quickly feeds Hudson and tops up his water bowl before he makes his way to his bedroom, loosening his tie as he does so. He hangs up his suit after tossing the shirt in the laundry basket and flops into bed in his boxers. He doubts there will be much sleep tonight with a mind that is whirling. With each passing night it's becoming harder to switch off his brain. But he can make the attempt at least, and leans over to shut off the lamp as he hears Hudson snuffling around and getting his bed comfy in the corner of the room. And as he closes his eyes, the thought comes to him again that he's glad for the company of that funny, scruffy little dude.

###

He's under the street lights again, basking in the misty glow coming off them in a soft yellow halo. Walking alone, the street is deserted; the only sound the soft tread of his shoes on the white concrete footpath. He's not sure how he got here though. Up ahead a couple appears on the street walking in his direction. He pays them no mind, continuing to walk in the soft misty glow around him. The couple walk under one of the distant street lights and as he looks up, recognition dawns. It's Red and Liz. But that isn't right. She's blonde now. Why is her hair dark again? He prefers it dark though, that's for sure. He hesitates for a mere moment contemplating the difference in her looks before taking off in their direction, sprinting along the deserted street.

"Keen!" he yells, his voice falling away as if sucked up in the darkness outside the balls of misty light.

The couple stop and turn from him as he's gaining on them and run in the opposite direction. For that one moment it strikes him as funny, because he's never actually seen Reddington run that fast.

"Keen! Don't!" Damn it, he needs her to stop running. Needs her to be with him now and not Reddington and his crazy half-assed avenging schemes.

From the side another party comes into view, starkly lit in the glow of the street lamps on the opposite side of the street. He can't see who it is. The man's face is in shadow yet he sees the glint of the raised gun clearly. His hand flies to his right hip only to find he's unarmed. Why the hell is he unarmed?!

"Liz! Run!" and he can't believe it. He's chasing her and yet now he's telling her to run. And she is running. Away from him and now away from the dark gunman to their side.

The shot rings out. Shockingly loud in the deserted street the sound ricochets around him. In slow motion he sees the bullet fly as Liz turns at the sound. As it slams into her mid section the red stain grows against her white top. As she crumbles to the white footpath under the yellow glow of the street light, he's seen this before. He's seen a woman he loves shot in the belly and drop to the ground.

"No!" he screams, never stopping in his mad run to her. "Liz, no!"

Reddington shields Liz and faces the gunman, his own weapon drawn. In one moment the gunman is standing under his street light as if surveying his handiwork. The next he's laying in a pool of his own blood, brought down by Reddington's weapon.

"God, no!" Ressler cries, dropping to Liz's side and cradling her. Exactly how he had cradled Audrey as her blood had spilled. Blood is pouring from her abdomen as his hands find the gaping wound.

"Don't you dare, Liz! No!" And his hands are holding her together. Forcing his palm against the wound he tries to stem the flow of blood. But it's pouring all over his hand, turning her white top bright red as a large crimson stain radiates out from under his large hand.

"No! Don't you leave me Liz," he whispers to her. "Not you too! Don't!"

Her eyes are locked on his. She is trying to speak as he drops his head closer, listening to her whispers. He can't make out the words. And then he does. As blood bubbles to her lips, he hears the last words she says.

"I…sorry…Ress…"

Just like Audrey, the last word to pass her lips is his name. Her lips are a shade of blue under the bright red blood now as her eyes glaze, unable to focus on him any longer. And still his hand futilely attempts to stop the bleeding in her abdomen as he cradles her close, begging her with his eyes.

Red is standing near him watching and leans down into Ressler's field of view.

"Damn you! You got her killed! You did this!" he screams at the criminal, hugging Liz's dying form to him.

"Donald, you can't save her." Reddington's voice is even. Almost cold.

Samar steps into the light. He doesn't know where she has come from, but she is here. "You shouldn't even try," she tells him evenly as he glares at the both of them, as the life fades from his partner in his arms.

"I have to! I have to try!" His head buries into her neck, hugging her tight as he lifts her bodily off the ground and places her across his knees. His suit is saturated in her blood, as her life blood turns sticky on his hands. The flow is slowing, but not because his hands are having any effect. Because she is dying. Dying in his arms just like Audrey did.

"I told you that you can't save her." Samar tells him again.

"Shut up! Shut the fuck up!" he screams at her feeling Liz's head falling to his chest. He can't lose her. Not like this. Not in the street. Not again!

"NO!" His head rises, and arching his head back he utters a howl. And he can't even tell Samar to get the hell away from him as he hugs Liz to him, feeling cold skin under his hands. Holding her chin and cheek in his bloody hand, he drops her head back and looks into her eyes. And she doesn't look back.

She is gone.

Reddington is kneeling down to him, trying to take Liz from his arms. He hugs her tighter, her face pressed into his chest.

"Get the fuck away from me! You did this! You got her killed!"

"I told you, you can't save her. Why did you even try?" Samar again tells him, maddeningly calm.

Ressler shuts them out as the tears flow, his head dropping now as he sits on the ground with the body of his partner in his arms.

"No! NO! NO!" is all he can scream as the sickening realization hits him that Samar was right. He couldn't save her.

###

His eyes fly open as he bolts upright in bed. His chest is heaving as he yells out into the dark room. "NO! NO!" A dog is barking. Why is there a dog barking? In the dark room all he can feel is his sweat soaked sheets and as his eyes adjust to the darkness, the room comes into focus around him.

It was a dream. He knows it was a dream, yet his heart is still hammering. He couldn't save her.

"Shit" He leans forward, grasping his hair in his hands, sitting cross legged on the wet sheets gulping in air. He needs light. He can't sit in the oppressive dark a second longer and slams his hand toward the bedside table, sending his clock careening to the floor as he finds the bedside lamp. Light floods into the room, highlighting the sheen of sweat on his torso.

"Dammit."

It's the first nightmare he's had regarding Audrey's death in months, yet it wasn't Audrey's death. The image of Liz dead in his arms is shockingly real. He needs some water. Clambering out of bed, he almost stumbles in the sheets dragging on the floor before righting himself. As Hudson follows, he makes his way to the kitchen and hauls open the fridge door to find the jug of cold water. He pours a glass and gulps it down, almost retching on the feel of it in his tight throat. He forces himself to slow down and sip. And in the dark kitchen, lit only with the glow from the still open fridge, he drinks water down as his heart rate begins to settle.

He hears a whine at his feet and looks down to Hudson. "I'm okay, bud," Hudson is not convinced and sits on Ressler's foot.

Having had enough water, or at least, he can't drink any more without throwing up, he puts the jug back in the fridge. Easing his foot out from under Hudson, he takes the few steps out to his living room. The curtain is still open, letting in the sight of the city lights. Unsure what time it is, and not willing to hunt down his watch or phone to find out, he stands, taking in the sight. Below him the street lamps glow, illuminating the perfect white concrete path under it under yellow misty balls of light. He looks at the scene, moving his gaze down the sidewalk slowly, almost afraid of what will greet him.

But there is no dead partner laying down there in a pool of spreading blood. No Reddington. No gunman. No Samar. It was just a dream. His hand finds the cold window pane as he leans his forehead against it, staring at the soft yellow balls of light around the street lights.

As his brain settles, he forces the image of his dead partner lying in his blood soaked arms to the back of his mind. He can't look at that again. He raises his head from the window, runs a hand through his damp hair and turns to look at the clock. It's 5:11am and his alarm is set for 6:00am. There is no point returning to bed. The sun will be up soon, chasing the soft yellow glow of the street lights away. Daylight will come to the city, chasing the night demons away with it.

Leaving the living room he makes his way to his shower and steps under the warm water. He can't wash away the dream, but he can at least make himself feel physically better. Stepping out a few minutes later he shaves and dresses, before standing in front of the mirror. He'll pass as the Assistant Director of the Counterterrorism Task Force for another day. No one can see the inner doubts, turmoil and bad decisions lurking under the surface. No one will see the conflict within. Except perhaps, Samar. But his mask is firmly back in place.

After feeding Hudson he grabs his keys and leaves the apartment, making his way through the hallway where he'd met Tom Keen and out to his vehicle. It's an overcast morning with rain still threatening as he drives out into the street. Towering above him, the street lamps are either side of him and he can't help but look up at them from the confines of his vehicle. Their lights are extinguished now, no longer needed in the daylight. His eyes drop to the white footpath, seeing the image of his dead partner in his minds eye once more. He shakes his head, willing the image to leave the forefront of his brain.

"Get a damn grip."

He pulls out onto the street, forcing himself to concentrate on the traffic. Yet he's more convinced than ever. If something doesn't change, and change soon, Reddington is going to get Liz killed.


	6. Terrifying Reality

_I loved 3x05! So I know Ressler wasn't running around in his Kevlar (his sexiest look, let's face it!) but we got to see him in his role of 'the diplomat' tonight – and the added bonus of seeing him doing his 12 steps in Narcotics Anonymous was beyond awesome! Way to go, Ress! But, for all the good scenes we got there was one vital seen we DID NOT GET! Oh my gosh, how in the world didn't we get to see Ressler's reaction when the 'Fugitive Elizabeth Keen Reported Dead' story went viral on media everywhere? Seriously?! So I knew immediately what I had to write._

* * *

"Agent Ressler, your testimony today, while I believe in its integrity, is incomplete." Chairman Hitchin's voice is calm and even. She's done a fair and admirable job of running the proceedings all day, but Ressler is tired of the whole waste of time. He's not a diplomat. He's a field agent and all of this sitting with Reven Wright while the discussions and testimony continue has got old. And aside from that, he's not relishing the close proximity of Peter Kotsiopulos to him either. He refocuses on the Chairman as she continues. "However, I cannot help but feel there is more you are not telling us. Whether it's because you're still processing evidence or for some other reason, I am uncertain. But the fact remains that during this hearing we do need complete transparency and cooperation between all agencies. With that in mind-"

The slam of an opening door stops the Chairman mid-sentence as a court officer walks briskly toward her. "What is the meaning of this interruption?" she asks, recovering quickly as her eyes dart from Ressler to the man hurriedly approaching her bench.

Ressler turns slightly to catch the eyes of Reven Wright to see her as confused as he is with this interruption. He then returns his cautious gaze to the Chairman as the court officer reaches her bench.

"Ma'am. Something has occurred which is of paramount importance in regards to these proceedings. If I may?" The man has a TV remote in his hand, Ressler notes. In the pit of stomach, icy fingers grip his gut. Something is wrong. Very wrong.

"If I don't deem it of paramount importance in which to justify this interruption-" Chairman Hitchins stops, shakes her head and looks at her watch briefly. "Fine. Go ahead," she nods as the court officer turns to the TV screens in the room. Two large screens occupy the front corners of the room, Ressler now notices as their screens both turn blue then flicker to life.

It takes a second for him to realize what he is seeing. But as the image becomes clear it hits him hard in his gut as his stomach drops to the floor. His partner is lying on a white concrete ground surrounded in a pool of crimson blood.  _Fugitive Elizabeth Keen Reported Dead_ , the crawl announces, the words etching into the back of his wide eyes. Unable to breathe, his heart hammers in his chest. What?!

Liz is dead.

He's unaware that people are standing up behind him and the commotion is barely heard as blood rushes between his ears. Sitting at the small table with eyes glued to the screen, his fingers grip the edge of it as his knuckles turn white. As if in a roaring void, the room fades away and it's only him and the shocking image on the screen.

Liz is dead.

And it strikes him again as he stares at the image that she's blonde. She died a blonde. She should have stayed a brunette. It's happened. Reddington has got her killed.

And even as his heart hammers and his lungs forget how to breathe, he knows he's seen it before. The previous night in his dream. Red blood on white concrete. His brain fools him as the image on the screen and the startlingly real memory of his dream combine. He doesn't look down at his suit, almost convincing himself he will be covered in her blood. That his hands will be bright red with her blood sticking to them. She's gone. Yet this isn't a dream. This is real. The only thing missing in the photo on the TV screens is him holding her as she lies dead in his arms.

She's dead. She's gone.

At a sharp intake of breath his lungs expand. And still he can't drag his eyes from the screen. The red crawl at the bottom of the screen is announcing it to the nation. Fugitive Elizabeth Keen Reported Dead. Fugitive. She is far more than that. Partner. Friend. Confidant. They have no idea who she is. And he can't tell them. Can't even move from his seat.

All those smiles. All those shared hours of support, partnership, friendship and caring. All gone. Images of her flash through his mind, contrasting starkly with the dead body on the TV screen. She's laughing, turning to him, beside him, talking to him, placing a coffee on his desk, putting her hand on his shoulder, telling him he did good as he tells her he was amazing. He's hugging her beside a cabin in the woods, hearing her sobs in his ear. Holding her so close he can feel her breath on his cheek. She's sitting at his side in the back of an ambulance. She's helping him from a fake hospital as he leans on her, unable to walk unaided. Supporting him. There for him.

' _I thought for a moment we might lose you back there.'_

The terrifying prospect is here. He wants to scream at her that IT IS. It is terrifying. It has come to fruition. He is now living in a world that no longer has Liz Keen alive in it. Liz is gone. Reddington has done it. He has got her killed.

"Agent Ressler!" Reven Wright's voice reaches him and suddenly he realizes she is standing in front of him, her dark eyes searching his.

With an effort he drags his unwilling eyes from the screen and meets her eyes as she stands in front of the table, leaning forward on it, facing him. "Agent Ressler, are you listening to me?"

He's not. Not in the slightest.

"Yes… ma'am." He lies, barely recognizes his own voice through the constriction in his throat.

"We need details. Find out about Reddington. We need to know what the hell went down."

Reddington? He doesn't give a shit about the man who just got Liz killed. But suddenly he's back at his meeting that morning, feeling Reddington's gun in his back as the criminal's words come back to him.  _'An assassin has targeted Agent Keen.'_

The assassin targeted her and found her. And as a result, Liz is dead. The words are hammering around his head, unable to find rest, bouncing from one side to another in an impossibly tragic dance.

"Agent Ressler." Reven Wright is in his face and he can see her yet can't focus on her. "Are you alright?"

No. He's not alright. Not even close and it takes every ounce of control he has to slide his mask back in place as best he can and face her. It's ragged and torn around the edges, but he manages to keep it in place long enough to haul himself to his feet, nod and offer some vague reassurance. He doesn't even know what he's telling her. All he knows is that his stomach is lurching uncontrollably and he needs to be away from the TV screens with their lifeless image.

He needs to get the hell out of this room.

"I'll make… make some calls," he manages, then turns and almost stumbles from the table, heading away from the TV's. Away from Reven Wright's scrutiny and her BFF the Chairman. Away from the image of Liz dead in a pool of her own blood filling the TV screens. Yet it's burned in his brain now. Etched into his retina. He doesn't need to see it on the TV screens anymore. It's right there on the inside of his eyelids as he closes his eyes momentarily.

He's halted in his progress out of the room by someone in front of him and realizes Peter Kotsiopulos is blocking his exit. He has no respect for the man, knowing his affiliation with the Cabal and what they have done to Liz. DID to Liz. He gasps at that reality. Liz is no longer a part of his present. She's been relegated to past tense. He attempts to move by the CIA Director, unable to stay in the same room and breathe the same air as the bastard.

"I see justice has been served," the Director says, his voice cool and calculated, apparently reveling in this development. "A great win for counterterrorism in our country," he adds, finishing with that sickening smile on his face.

And if Ressler wasn't sure he was about to throw up, he'd wipe that smirk off the CIA Director's face right then and there. Punch his lights out so hard he'd knock him into next week. Yet all he can do is literally shove the man aside and make his way from the room. The double doors open before him as a court officer stands aside, revealing the bathrooms right across the empty hall.

Making a beeline for them as his mouth waters uncontrollably he knows his stomach is about to betray him. Barely making it to the nearest stall, slamming the door behind him, he bends over just in time to hold his tie out the way as he vomits. Eyes closed, he retches and loses his entire catered lunch. And with his stomach now empty he stands, one hand on his middle and a clenched fist to his mouth, holding in the sob that's trying to escape. And standing still as his chest heaves, the image of Liz dead on the ground slams into his mind repeatedly.

' _You can't save her.'_

And he couldn't. He didn't.

Nor was he even with her. He wasn't even there at the end to see what happened. Wasn't even there to try and save her. Wasn't there to hold her as she died in his arms. To be the last person she saw and to ease her from this life, to hold her against him as her life ran from her in a puddle of blood. His breath hitches at the memory of his hands trying to hold her together in his dream as blood poured all over them.

In his dream she had told him she was sorry. But he's the one who is sorry. As tears fill his eyes, he's sorrier than she will ever know. And now he can never tell her.

Slowly he leans against the wall of the stall, becoming aware of a faint sound in ears that still have cotton wool in them apparently. He can't focus. He doesn't know what the faint sound is and doesn't care. He needs to sit, and lowers himself onto the closed toilet lid as he gulps in air to settle his gut. For the first time he looks down, and is almost surprised to see that he is not covered in her blood.

The sound comes again, and now he knows what it is. It's his phone buzzing. There were no phones in the hearing rooms with the incoming signal blocked for security reasons. Yet away from the room, his phone is buzzing incessantly at him. With a shaking hand he retrieves it from his inside jacket pocket. Aram is calling him. But he can't talk to Aram, or anyone for that matter, and hangs up his phone. He doesn't need Aram telling him that Liz is dead.

He KNOWS that, as his palms brush the tears away that are threatening to fall.

And again his phone buzzes, and a second time he hangs up. But apparently Aram is determined to get through to him as a text comes in. He can ignore a phone call, but the text lights up on his screen and he sees the words. And for a moment, he can't understand what he's reading and it's not just from the tears swimming in his eyes.

[It's not real. She is alive.]

Once again, the pit of his (now empty) stomach finds itself on the floor.

She's alive? What?! But what did he just see…? Confusion tempered with the first sign of relief rears up in him as he stands. Pulling the door of the stall open he makes his way to the sinks where he runs cold water over his still shaking hands and wipes his face. What does Aram mean, it's not real? Now he needs to talk to the man, pressing the speed dial quickly and is glad for the solitude of the bathroom as Aram answers.

"Aram, what-"

"Agent Ressler! Oh, thank God! If you've seen the TV or heard the reports-"

He looks up at himself in the mirror as Aram's voice fills his ear. "I have," he interrupts. "What the hell is-?"

"No, it's not real," Aram interrupts him again, determined that Ressler hear the truth as soon as possible. He hears Samar in the background telling Aram to hurry up and explain. Ressler shares her sentiment as Aram continues. "Okay, there was a bounty put on Agent Keen's head. Long story short, the only way to get the bounty off her head was to make it look like she had been killed."

It isn't real. Ressler understands what they did now. And in his overwhelming relief that Liz is alive, he leans forward on the counter, dropping his head to look at the sinks and gets it. It's 'The Sting', and Liz is playing the part Robert Redford did and lying in a pool of blood. It's all been an elaborate sham.

He looks up quickly, facing his red rimmed eyes in the mirror again. "Who the hell came up with-"

Aram stops him again, "Um, it was Mr Reddington's idea."

Of course it was. Bastard.

He hangs up, having heard enough for now. But in his frustration at Reddington, he also realizes the criminal hasn't failed to protect her this time. And while he may not like the drastic measures and what it's just done to him, he's actually grateful to the man. He just wishes he hadn't been inside a secure room with no phone service when this all went down.

He dries his face, straightens his tie, sweeps back his hair and takes stock of himself. He'll pass. His stomach hasn't fully settled, but he's certain it won't let loose again. His heart is still determined to hammer in his chest a little longer, clinging to the horror and shock that his partner was killed. His lungs likewise are still having trouble breathing steadily. But it will come. He nods, exhales with a shuddering breath and then walks back out to find Reven Wright.

And as he walks across the hallway to re-enter the hearing room, he is aware of one painful fact.

He'd give anything to hear Liz's voice right now. Absolutely anything.

###

Three hours later, he's alone in his office. Lights are dimmed down in the war room behind him as most of the agents have left for the day. A few desk lamps shine further down the room but Ressler isn't really looking out there. Facing Liz's desk, his mind is elsewhere. His gut is churning. Not like this afternoon, but nevertheless, a small volcano is erupting. But this one isn't because of shock and grief. Anger is brewing deep inside him and as he leans on the window ledge in his office he can't stop going over what Laurel Hitchin and Reven Wright are ordering him to do.

He has to work side by side with the bastard who is part of the Cabal that has framed his partner.

How the hell…? Not even the fact he's worked side by side with the FBI's Number 4 the past 2 years can prepare him for this. He can't fathom how he can possibly do this. If the entire Presidential Commission didn't believe a word of his testimony that Peter Kotsiopolus IS the enemy and the face of the Cabal, how the hell is he going to get anyone to listen to him now?

He now has to look the CIA Director in the face every day and inform him of leads on Liz. He's all about following orders - or making it look like he is, of late - but this has added an entirely new and unwanted element to his leading the task force. He can't think how it's going to work. Actually he can't think at all. His brain is in overdrive and can't function anymore. He's done.

He stands, exhales heavily and grabs his keys. He can't stay here a second longer and strides out his office and makes his way through the deserted war room to the elevator. It's been a long day and he just needs it to be over.

###

Hudson greets him at the door and he has to admit, he's a welcome sight on today of all days. What do you call a dog who was almost 'orphaned' today? He doesn't know, but he's once again relieved he doesn't have to find out.

"Hey, little dude," he tells him, giving the dog a small smile as the animal's tail wags faster. He's never really had need of a dog in his adult life. Until now. Eyebrows rise at that thought as he makes his way to the kitchen to feed his four legged cohort.

The beer is in his hand immediately afterward, and cracking the top off he flops down on his couch. It's dark outside and the thought of looking out his windows at the street lights and white concrete footpath below them is unwelcome. Last night was just a dream - red blood on white concrete in a sweat soaked nightmare. Today was just an elaborate deception - red blood on white concrete in a shocking, gut wrenching moment plastered all over the TV news. Yet it's still too real in his mind.

The cold beer is welcome on his throat as it slides past the lump he didn't even know was there. Leaning back on the couch, he stares at nothing, thoughts turned inward. She didn't die. Yet she could have. She still could. He meant what he said to Samar and Aram.

Hudson jumps up beside him, startling him as he turns to the dog. "She could still die out there. And I can't let that happen." The fact he's talking to her dog makes it no less relevant. "We need to work harder. Need to do a better job at keeping her safe."

He focuses on Hudson's bright eyes. "And maybe if we do that, she'll walk through that very door one day," he tells the animal motioning his head back to his front door. "You think?" The animal rests his head on Ressler's thigh as if to nod, eliciting a small chuckle from Ressler as the dog curls closer. "Yeah, you're the Aram of this household. Your job is to be the moral support. But don't tell Mojtabai I said that," he sighs with a small smile, swallowing back his beer as he recalls his earlier interaction with the man.

He'd covered it with humor - of course - afterward, but he didn't realize how much he'd needed that hug until Aram's arms were around him. He'd come so close to having to live without her. So close he hadn't even been able to voice the sentiment to his coworkers. His hand finds his phone in his pocket as Hudson starts to fall asleep, his head still resting on him. He dials the number again.

' _This number is not in service'._

His head falls back against the couch. "Liz…tonight would be a real good night to call."

She doesn't call. And still sitting on the couch he pulls the blanket over him as Hudson remains at his side. Incredibly, his brain does manage to shut down just enough as a restless sleep overtakes him.

###

His phone is ringing, bringing him wide awake in the dark room. A soft light shines through the open curtains as he scrambles around with his hands, finding his phone buried underneath him on the couch.

"Ressler," he answers, noting that it's after 2am. Damn. This can't be good.

"Ress…I'm sorry-"

"Liz!" he's still only half awake, yet hearing the sound of her voice jolts him out of the remnants of his sleeping stupor. "What are you sorry for?" Yet he knows. He also recognizes the words she told him in his dream the night before as she died, and for one horrible moment he's afraid this is another dream.

"For waking you. For what happened today," she continues, "I know that when Red told Aram the plan, you were out of touch. If that caused-"

He's pretty certain it's not a dream now, but still; he doesn't want to go there and stops her. "Yeah. I know. I know it was plan by Reddington," he tells her quickly. "Are you alright?" She may not be dead, but that doesn't mean she's necessarily okay.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she tells him, also a little too quickly.

And it occurs to him that neither of them is being honest with the other. And he can't have that. Not when he's needed to hear from her all day following her untimely demise on National TV. He leans forward a little to talk to her. Really talk to her. But she is speaking again.

"No…I'm not okay. And I don't think you are either," she tells him before he can even say a word. And she's done it again, nailed it and known exactly what he was thinking and where his head was today. And in that that overwhelming few seconds, he knows why he needs her. Why he couldn't bear it if she were gone.

Why he loves her.

They're the same. Right now, they may be on different sides of the law, but they know each other. They GET each other.

"It was-" he stops and closes his eyes. Those two words will forever hold so much meaning between them. "It was hard, seeing that on TV. For a moment, I thought it was real. I thought I had…lost you." He tells her, gripping the phone hard.

"I'm so sorry. I wanted to call you right away. I wanted you to know but there was no time."

He can hear her voice dropping, quivering. And he'll lose it if she does that. "You wouldn't have got through even if you had. I was testifying at the Commission."

"I really am sorry you went through that today. I don't know what I would have done if I saw … saw you reported dead on TV…" she adds, her voice still wavering.

"Liz…I'm fine, okay?" And he is - now. Not so much earlier, but that's in the past now. "You're alive."

"Yes, I am alive." Then she surprises him as her voice strengthens. "I'm also very proud of you."

He looks up, eyes open. "For what?"

"I know where you were this morning when Red visited. I know you got help."

How does he tell her that he went to the meeting because of her? That he had told her he could do this on his own - truly believed he could - yet he wasn't really doing it on his own because she was there at his side every day. Until the day she wasn't at his side, and finally he had faltered and sought out the help she had asked him to get. That he had found the nearest NA meeting and stood there among his peers and nervously told them 'My name is Don and I'm an addict'. How does he tell her he did that because she had wanted that help for him?

"I did it because you were right, I couldn't do it all by myself." And that's how he tells her that.

He hears her soft laugh and it brings a smile to his face. "Do you know I could hug you right now?"

He grins. "Yeah? Well Aram already beat you to it."

"He did? Oh, man and I missed it! He's the master hugger, right?!" and now she's laughing and her voice is strong and cheerful and sounds beautiful in his ears. For the first time in weeks, his heart lifts.

"Something like that. I told him not to do that again, though," he smiles.

"Oh, of course not," and he can hear the sarcasm in her voice. She can see right through him. And he's totally okay with that.

He sobers, thinking of what he had relayed to Samar and Aram. "But I'm glad you're okay," he tells her, truly thankful to be listening to her again. "I'm going to try harder to get your name cleared and get you through this, and try to keep you safer."

And he means it, because talking with her has just made him realize something. He may not want to share intel with the CIA or Peter Kotsiopulos but he's going to take a leaf out of Reddington's book - keep your friends close and your enemies closer. He knows now how he can make this work with the CIA/Cabal - he's going to have the FBI's Number 4 help him as his unseen partner.

"Thank you. I know this hard for both of us, so I'll stay strong if you will too, okay?" she tells him.

He can do that. Well, as long as he doesn't have to see her dead body all over the National News again. "I will."

"I'd better go, but I really am glad to hear your voice."

He agrees wholeheartedly with her on that one. "Yeah, me too. Stay safe and goodnight," he tells her looking down at her sleeping dog beside him.

"Goodnight," she tells him and hangs up leaving him holding his phone as he slowly leans back on his couch, his blanket around his legs. He lays his phone beside him and closes his eyes still hearing her words.

In no time at all he's asleep again, and not one dream of his dead and blood splattered partner invades his sleep that night.

* * *

_Author's Note - the end scene with Ressler with his beer, talking to Hudson is from a prompt by spooniewithtn on tumblr :-)_


	7. What Might Have Been

_I know a few people were disappointed with 3x06, but I thought it was okay. I loved seeing Ressler going head to head with the CIA Director, while holding secrets for Red. What a long way our 'by the book' boy scout has come! So I thought about where to add a scene into this episode. I kept thinking of it being in the war room with the Director lurking around them, but nothing really came to mind. Then I got a prompt from my good friend and fellow Keenler fanfic writer, Schreiberin44 - and this is the result.  
(And yes, it's short compared to my other chapters!)_

* * *

Norwood Drive, Arlington is an ordinary suburban street, lined with comfortable homes and well tended gardens. The more affluent members of society live here a few miles from the seat of Government and tourist attractions. And with many of the homes empty while their occupants are at work or school, it's a quiet, peaceful morning in the suburbs.

But not for long.

The blue van hurtles around the corner with a police cruiser in pursuit screaming to a halt to block its exit, while Ressler slams on the brake in their black Suburban. The van is pinned between them and not going anywhere as he and Samar quickly exit the vehicle, ducking for cover as the sound of gunfire shatters the morning air. They were too late to reach Dr Neehoff at her home despite their phone call to her, but there is no way Ressler is letting them take her from under their noses now.

It's over in seconds as Samar shoots the gunman holding Anna Neehoff hostage, and as the poor woman screams at the mans brains splattered all over the window, Ressler takes off running to find the driver who has fled the scene.

He pauses to listen and take in his surroundings and is struck by how quiet the street is. Even after loud gunfire has obliterated the morning peace, there is no sound. There are no curious bystanders slowly opening front doors or peering nervously behind curtains from living rooms. Yet he listens in the still air, taking it all in, turning slowly.

There. A movement behind the bushes catches his attention and he's off running again, gun drawn. His mind is in pursuit mode. He can follow the man from the rear, if Liz can get around the other direction-

Except there is no Liz. He's not in pursuit with his partner. He's in pursuit OF her and she isn't here to back him up. It's been weeks, yet suddenly his brain is right back to them pursuing a suspect together. He stops on the footpath, having lost sight of the darting figure among the silent homes and gardens. There is no hasty run, no darting around to flee after the suspect to drive him toward his partner. He's on his own and must use his other senses too.

He listens and picks up the sound of distant traffic, the hum of a distant lawn mower. People going about their daily tasks. But they're all far off. He needs closer sounds. He scans the area taking in the manicured lawns and metal fences. In his mind he's pointing, telling Liz to head one way while he runs the other. Yet she's not there to give that instruction to. He's on his own and forces himself to concentrate on the job at hand.

The sound of a dog barking reaches his ears, and he's off in pursuit again. The dog would only bark if something had invaded its yard or run past. And he's running again, gun ready as he comes up beside the house where the dog bark had come from. He's focused on the task at hand as he sees movement in the window, yet still imagines Liz on the other side of the home, zeroing in on their suspect while they have each others backs.

_Focus._

Dragging his mind off his missing partner he grabs the door and springs into the home where he suddenly pulls up short. The sight of the small child standing by his mother on the floor startles him. He can't leave that child standing there, yet he needs to find the fleeing suspect. And again it comes unbidden. Have Liz check on the mom while he keeps pursuing.

Yet Liz isn't here.

_Dammit._

And he's off again, having concluded the woman's car keys are missing and in moments the suspect is stopped as Ressler holds his gun on the man in the car.

"You move, your next thought's gonna be about a bullet," he tells the man, and then orders him out of the car. Cuffing him roughly, he holsters his weapon and pushes the man before him, walking out towards the road. And walking beside the man as he holds his arm tightly, Ressler's mind won't let up. He successfully pursued the suspect by himself, yet is suddenly missing his partner more than she will ever know.

Samar jogs up to him as he hands off the guy to her and in that moment, seeing her as his partner in this, thoughts of Liz take a back seat.

"Take him and call an ambulance. There is a woman down in this house," he tells Samar and doesn't wait for her reply before he turns and runs to the back of the house and the open kitchen door.

The child is right where he was before; standing by his mother. For a moment Ressler stops again. He doesn't know if this child will be afraid of him too after seeing a gun wielding man just attack his mother.

"Hey there, I'm just gonna check out your mommy, okay?" Ressler tells the child, slowly approaching and holding out his hand in the direction of the small boy as he drops to his knees at the woman's side. With one hand lightly on the chest of the boy who appears unharmed, thankfully, he feels the mothers pulse on her neck with his other hand. It's strong and steady though she's out cold. His gaze studies the woman, quickly checking for any obvious injuries. She seems fine, apart from having been knocked out, but she's going to have a nasty headache when she wakes.

Small fingers are suddenly around his large hand and he looks up quickly to see two tiny hands wrapping their little fingers around his much larger ones. The sight of the child holding his hand hits him in the gut, taking him by surprise. This little boy is about the age his child would have been. His eyes slide up from his hand on the boys' chest to meet his wide eyes.

"Hey, it's okay. Mommy's gonna be okay, sweetie," he tells the boy softly, turning from his mother and focusing wholly on the small child as he hears ambulance sirens in the distance. He's tiny, and Ressler's hand is still on his chest and he can't keep his eyes off those two little hands gripping his. Taking in the sight of the tousled haired child in his dinosaur pajamas, he smiles at him past the sudden lump in his throat.

"It's okay, there will be some people in here soon and they're going to help mommy," he tells him, trying to warn him that even more people are going to barge in and approach his mommy. And for all his wanting Liz to have been with him on the chase, suddenly he's fine with this little boy in his charge for these few moments.

His hand moves under the child's arm as the little hands attempt to follow and then let go as the child looks up at him. "It's okay, sweetie," Ressler reassures him, and his other hand is on the boy now as he holds him and hoists him up, folding him against him as he stands. He's lighter than he had imagined, but then he hasn't held that many children. The boy is soft and warm and Ressler holds him close, soothing him and rubbing his back. He doesn't cry or say anything, and just stares with big wide eyes at the man holding him.

"Yeah, I know, you don't know what's going on here, buddy. We're gonna help you and your mommy though."

The ambulance siren is closer, out in the street now. Samar will direct them to the woman and he'd better give them some room in the small kitchen.

"How about we wait over here, okay?" Ressler tells the child, moving to the kitchen table and pulling out a chair, sitting down and gently placing the child on his lap.

"There, see? We can still see mommy," he tells him gently stroking the child's hair as he holds him close. "What's your name, buddy?" he asks, sure the boy is too afraid to speak, or not even sure if the child is old enough to talk. But he's wrong about that.

"Timothy…" the boy tells him shyly, looking up at Ressler with those big saucer eyes.

The lump in Ressler's throat gets a little bigger. "My name's Don," he tells the child softly. "Pleased to meet you, Timothy," he smiles, listening to the sound of the ambulance get closer. And for a moment he almost wishes they'd slow down.

"And if my partner were here, she'd like you, buddy. Her name is Liz…" he stops, looks up and can see Liz in his mind. Liz, who had been sure she was going to have a child of her own by her 30th birthday and had been going to adopt. His child with Audrey and Liz's child would have grown up together, he's sure of that. Yet neither child got that chance. His voice softens even more. "You'd like her, Timothy," he says as the child's eyes never leave his, "she would have been a good mommy…"

"Mommy," the boy says and Ressler nods and holds him close as the ambulance comes to a halt outside the house. A minute later, the sound of running feet approach the back door.

"Here they come, Timothy, it's okay," he says, instinctively shielding the child against him as two medics barge in the back door and approach the woman on the floor. The little boy leans into him and his little hand reaches out for Ressler's thumb and hangs onto it.

Ressler smiles at the child as the medics check out his mother on the floor.

"Is the boy hurt?" a medic calls over.

"He seems fine," Ressler tells him, "just a bit shaken up." And who can blame the child for that, he thinks, as Samar appears at the back door. She stops and takes in the sight of Ressler sitting on a kitchen chair with a child on his lap.

He looks up and sees her, and whispers to Timothy. "This ladies name is Samar, she's a nice lady too, buddy," he tells the child as Samar approaches, stepping around the medics and the downed woman.

Samar pulls out another chair and sits, smiling at Ressler. He simply looks at her, almost daring her to make some smart remark and motions to the child. "This is Timothy and we've been hanging out here, haven't we buddy?" he tells her then looks down at the boy. Timothy nods and leans into Ressler, looking shyly at Samar.

"Has he been taking good care of you, Timothy?" Samar smiles, asking the child who nods, still gripping Ressler's thumb. She looks up at Ressler and grins and turns as the medic speaks.

"She's waking up here," he tells them, tending to Timothy's mother on the floor.

"How's she doing?" Samar asks them.

"She's fine, but I'd like her to go in for observation so we're getting the stretcher brought in."

On the floor the woman whimpers, still more out of it than conscious and Timothy who has been fairly quiet till now, looks up at Ressler.

"Mamma!"

"She's gonna be okay buddy," Ressler tells the boy, as Samar voices what's already in his mind.

"What about the boy? We can't leave him alone," she asks Ressler, turning back to him.

"Check her purse contents up on the counter and see if there is an emergency contact listed anywhere," Ressler tells him as Samar goes to the small pile emptied from the woman's purse. She finds the number of the woman's husband and quickly dials it.

As Samar is talking with the woman's husband, Ressler stands up with the child as the medics load his mother on the stretcher. The boy's arms wrap around his neck and again as Ressler meets the child's eyes, the lump comes right back in his throat.

"Mommy…" Timothy says quietly. Ressler is amazed the child isn't kicking and screaming at the sight of his mother being hauled off. But then again, he realizes, he doesn't know a lot about children.

"They're going to take her and make her all better, okay?" he tells him, feeling the boy's hair close against his cheek as the boy melds into him. He holds the child close, smelling the clean shampoo and soft baby soap on him. And in that instant, he can see Audrey's empty pregnancy test in his hands and truly realizes for the first time what it might have been like.

If this had been his child in his arms… his flesh and blood. A small part of him.

"You're a good boy, you know that buddy?" Ressler tells him over the lump in his throat, blinking quickly.

Timothy nods. Apparently he's well aware he's a good boy.

Samar stands aside as the medics take Timothy's mother out, then steps back over to Ressler. "Her husband is on his way. He works fairly close so should be here in 15 minutes or so." She looks at Ressler closely.

"Are you okay?"

He nods in reply, holding Timothy's soft hair. "Yup," he tells her, and then looks away quickly, holding the boy close to him as Timothy clings to his neck.

And maybe Samar is aware that he might have been a daddy by now, or maybe it's just because she's a woman who knows everything about men despite what they try and hide, but she smiles softly and motions behind her.

"I'll um, go outside and wait with the others out there," she tells him. With a nod to Ressler and a smile to Timothy she exits the kitchen, leaving Ressler holding the child in the empty room.

He looks at the child again, gently moving the floppy hair aside as he kisses the child's forehead. "You really are a good boy…"

And this time, he doesn't stop the tear that rolls down his cheek as he holds the child close.


	8. Are You Okay?

_So…3x07. We waited weeks to see it after the Brandons told us how awesome and emotional it was going to be. They weren't wrong. It stirred up such emotion in me. I couldn't believe how much this episode (that final scene) affected me. I know these characters aren't real. I know that. Yet why did that last scene affect and depress me so much?! I couldn't sleep after it because of how sick I felt. I could barely concentrate at work the next day because I was so damn miserable - over fictional characters! Yeah…I'm 'maybe' a little too invested in our Ressler, you think?! So at first I couldn't face writing about this episode. But after a while, my Ressler muse began to wake up. He began to want to be heard in my head. Ressler is normally never far from my thoughts (seriously, I've got it bad), but this time he was demanding to be heard. So I listened._

* * *

"Agent Ressler!"

Ressler doesn't even hear Cooper's shout through the clamoring in his brain as he crosses the road, narrowly missing a car that screeches to a halt in a squeal of tires and bouncing metal. He's unaware that Cooper's neighbors are standing on doorsteps watching the proceedings with nervous yet curious eyes. There have been strange goings on at the Cooper house all day, but now it's just escalated to a whole new level. Ressler is unaware that Cooper has taken a step out onto the road behind him. He can't see anything through the anger that is overwhelming him. His entire focus is on getting the hell away from both of them.

"Agent Ressler!"

Head pounding, this time Ressler does hear his boss, but chooses to ignore him. Because if he turns back to speak to the man, he doesn't know if he can control his fists. And he may have just called his boss a fool, but he's not going to end up in jail over assaulting a Federal agent. At least his brain can still see that much through the angry fog that's clouding his judgment.

He doesn't even take the time to throw his seat belt on before he adds the roar of the revving SUV engine to the formerly quiet street as he tears out of the parking spot. A glance in the rear view mirror reveals Cooper standing in the middle of the road watching his exit before he returns his eyes to the road ahead. And remembering as if by rote in some ingrained ritual, he barely realizes he's putting his seat belt on as the homes fly by on either side of his vehicle.

"Shit. Shit. Shit."

His teeth clench so hard his jaw hurts, and with foot clamped down on the pedal, he knows he's speeding. He's driving way too fast through these residential streets. Narrowly missing a car backing out of a driveway he slows down, then slams on the brake at the next intersection, not seeing the Stop sign until the last second.

Gripping the steering wheel in the stopped car, he struggles to breathe against the anger that's burning a hole in his gut. He trusted Cooper. Trusted the man with his life and yet the man gave Tom Keen information on his raid at Wing Yees. He interfered with what could have brought Liz in! Liz could be in custody right now, but for Cooper's actions. He can see no reason why the man would undermine him in such a deliberate manner. And with Tom Keen! Damn the man!

"Son of a bitch!" he yells, slamming his hand onto the steering wheel and unsure if he means Cooper, Tom Keen, or both. "Fuck the both of you!" he yells, clarifying it to himself immediately.

His phone buzzes with a call. It's Cooper – the last person he can talk to right now. He slams the phone onto the passenger seat where it bounces onto the floor. "Fuck you!"

After all these weeks of chasing Liz and the shit he's had to deal with regarding Reven Wright, Laurel Hitchins, Peter Kotsiopulos, and let's not forget damn Reddington, Cooper was the one source he knew had his back.

And now that source is gone. That trust is gone. And to hell with it. He doesn't care. He's done with this.

His heart hammers in his chest over his ragged breathing as he realizes the road ahead is clear. Pulling through the intersection, he also knows full well he shouldn't be driving. Not in his state of mind. But he can't stop here, and turns from his original plan of going back to the Post Office.

With a pull on the steering wheel he does a U-turn in the middle of the street and heads for his own apartment.

To hell with the post office.

To hell with all of it.

###

He tears through the front door as Hudson bounces around his legs, but he ignores the animal. Discarding his jacket and pulling off his tie he tosses them on his bed before striding into the bathroom. His reflection greets him, and for a split second the anger and something else he doesn't recognize behind his eyes startles him. The mask is gone. He's laid bare but doesn't care right now. Not that there is anyone here to see him anyway. Cold water splashes his face as he holds his head in his hands, leaning over the sink. And the relenting thought is slamming through his mind. He can't do this anymore. No more.

He rises, looks again at his reflection then grabs a towel off the rail to dry his face. He came here to escape for a while, but there is no solace here. But that's not entirely true. He knows where there is. He's ignored it for months. Opened the drawer a few times and slammed it shut. But always knew they were there.

He sits on his bed and opens the small drawer on the bedside table. Tucked away in the back there is an almost empty bottle of Oxy that he had kept there for emergencies even after he returned from Sitka and Hotel Red. Even after he threw out every other pill, these remained, largely ignored yet never forgotten. 4 pills stashed away for emergencies. He's never really stopped being an addict with his stash. And while he never took them, he hates himself for it.

They were there for when he needed to numb the pain. When he needed to stop feeling. And right now, he needs to stop feeling. He can't function like this and tosses a pill onto his hand that he now notices is shaking.

' _My name is Donald, and I'm an addict'_. The litany comes to his mind in a learned response, and he stops, pill almost to his mouth. Apparently the NA meetings have done some good.

"Fuck it." The pill gets tossed in the drawer before he slams it, tears his shirt off and heads for the spare bedroom.

He doesn't come in here much, preferring to pound the pavement in the park in his running shoes. But the gym equipment sits here, a throwback to a time when he had far more discipline. In SO many areas. Discipline that has been eroded and chipped away more and more over the last two years. Shirtless, he slams open the door and stares at the equipment. But it's not the fancy Bowflex that he heads for. It's the beaten up punching bag hanging silently on its hook. Because he doesn't need exercise. What he needs is to hit something.

Hard.

His fists fly, slamming into the bag and each time it bounces back to him he hits again, pounding his fists into the fabric. The thudding sound is almost music to his ears. It's Tom Keen's head and he's slamming his knuckles into that son of a bitches face over and over. And yet, as angry as he is at his former boss there is no way he can picture the bag as Cooper. There is no way, not even here, that he will raise a hand in anger to the man.

And the bag swings as he pummels it until his knuckles are red and stinging, and still he hits it relentlessly, channeling his anger into physical motion. It's always worked before. But it's not working right now. As the bag comes back this time he doesn't hit it. He hangs onto it, hugs it like a hurt child hugging its mother who won't hug him back no matter how much he begs her to. And the thought comes to him that's not too far off the mark. He's that desperate to hold something. To be held. Yet there is no one here to do that. He's alone. And has never felt so desperately alone in all his days.

And it hurts. Badly.

Sinking to his knees, he still holds the bag. Eyes closed, now his forehead is banging into the bag over and over before he even realizes.

_Stop!_

He stops. And is now perfectly still as he holds the bag with his cheek against and lets his breathing come back down. With eyes closed all he can see is Tom Keen. Harold Cooper. Tom Keen again. Cooper again. Raymond Reddington makes an appearance with that 'three steps ahead of him' grin. Reven Wright comes into view and behind her Laurel Hitchins, alongside a smirking Peter Kotsiopulos. His head drops, and still he is on his knees holding onto the bag, now willing the images to come forth. Because the one person he wants at the forefront of his brain won't come into view. She's elusive. She's hiding in the shadows and won't show herself.

And he needs to see her, even if it's just in his mind's eye. Because it's now abundantly clear he can't do this without his partner.

He drops his arms from the bag because it can't hug him back, and sinks to the floor. His sweat covered chest gleams in the filtered light coming through the window as he leans against the wall. And he actually wants to cry. Is desperate to let it out. Yet no tears are coming. Even they have betrayed him and he can't get any release. There is no safety valve that he can tear open on this pain.

For the first time in his Bureau life, he doesn't want to be an FBI agent. He's done. Completely and utterly over it. Being an agent has cost him everything and brought nothing in return except heartache. And with his head falling back on the wall behind him, he hits back on the wall a few times before he again stops himself. A concussion isn't exactly going to help things right now.

Harold Cooper is there again, when all he wants to do is push his image away and replace it with Liz. She's still not coming though or offering any lingering advice. Cooper is talking now, and he can't push the man out of his head.  _'Don't compromise yourself. You're a good agent. A good man.'_  He shakes his head to clear Cooper from his brain. His former words of advice have echoed through his mind several times since he was told that, and always he listened to the man. But he can't now. Cooper has just contradicted his own advice.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He's forgotten he'd even picked it up off the floor of the SUV. Another learned response – as an agent you must be in touch at all times. He ignores it. He does have that choice. After two minutes it buzzes again. But he can't ignore it and pulls it out of his pocket with knuckles that are still pink. It's Aram, texting him.

[Reven Wright is looking for you. Are you okay?]

It's only then that he notices the three missed calls. But he's not calling the woman back. If he couldn't trust his fists around Cooper and Tom Keen, he can't trust his voice with Reven Wright. Apart from the fact he doesn't care to hear what she has to say, he has no control over what may spill out of his mouth right now. Nor does he reply to Aram.

Not directly, anyway.

"Am I okay? No. Absolutely, no fucking way am I okay," he hisses to no one as he gazes up at the ceiling with his head leaning back on the wall. And again, he wishes tears would fall and give him something to shed from his being.

His phone buzzes again.

"Will you all just leave me the fuck alone?!" he yells, turning it off and tossing it to the floor.

And slowly the sun sets outside his window as he remains on the floor. His brain won't shut down. It bombards him with images of chasing the shadowy form of his elusive partner. Of Reddington calling him and using him. Of Cooper calling and betraying him. Of trying to do his job yet work against it at the same time, completely torn in two.

And finally she comes and is before him in his mind as his eyes close and cling to the sight of her smiling at him from across their desks. And the one smile he needed to see is suddenly before him as her face lights up on her birthday, her fingers to her lips. And if he could, he'd cry at the memories. Of what might have been. Because she is who he needs more than anything else right now. And her being gone has brought this all about. Set a series of events in motion that he's powerless to stop.

'Don't make me do this,' he'd told his partner. Because he knew. He KNEW even in those first moments that he couldn't do it without her. Just like he couldn't do it without Audrey. But he could still do his job without Audrey, and right now, he doesn't know if he can do this anymore.

And now Liz shows him the way and it's not even her words that do it. It's his words to her.

' _So, you go ahead and you nail yourself to a cross, and while you're up there feeling sanctified, you consider how many people are gonna die because this task force gets shut down and the rest of those animals on Reddington's list are still out there feeding.'_

He's still the Acting Director of this task force. She is still out there, needing him to find her. And with the memory of her looking at him in the flashing of the police lights, he answers her again.

"Don't ask me to feel your pain, Liz. I got more than enough of my own," he whispers out loud. And he does. And it's burning a hole in his very core. And it hurts so damn much.

And her image fades and won't come back despite his slamming his eyes shut to retrieve it.

But he picks up his phone, pulls himself up off the floor and exits the room to find the shower. And as the water streams over him he again needs to cry and let it out, yet the tears refuse to come. The hole inside him is growing and is inescapable. He's falling into it rapidly and can't stop the headlong descent. He's trying and he can't do it.

But he still has a job to do and dresses after his shower, ready to return to the post office and find out what the hell Reven Wright needs from him this time. At least it's after 5pm and that bastard Kotsiopulos and company will be gone.

And with an effort he replaces his FBI agent mask, grabs his keys and leaves his apartment. But he's not the same person he was when he left several hours ago at the start of his day. Of that, he's painfully aware. He's got a gaping hole inside that can't be filled and he has no idea what he can do to stop feeling this way.

###

"Are you okay?"

It's a simple question Samar is asking. It's not a simple answer. He should just say 'I'm fine' and be done with it. Yet he can't, because he's not okay. He's just had yet another ass chewing off Reven Wright over something he was only half listening to. His mind can't focus on anything except the blackness that is filling his being with pain, consuming him from the inside out. And on the surface that is coming off as complacency. But it's not that at all. It's his empty shell that's shutting down and unable to show anything outwardly.

And if it were Liz asking if he were okay…apart from the fact she wouldn't even need to ask, because she'd already know, he'd tell her straight that he wasn't okay. Yet Liz isn't here. And it's because she isn't here and because of all the shit that's gone down since she ran that he's now arrived at this place. He has nowhere to turn. His heart has been torn. Trust has been betrayed. The defenses inside have crumbled completely and left him raw and exposed.

Samar is waiting for his answer, and all he can do is look inward at the turmoil and pain, and the absolute futility and desperation that is trapped deep inside. But it's welling up inside him and needs to explode and yet he can see no release. No escape. Yet if it doesn't break free in some form he will implode. He needs to feel something else. ANYTHING but what he's feeling right now. But he doesn't know where else that feeling can come from.

There is no lifeline.

And without looking at her, he answers her as honestly as he can. "I'm not so sure."

And in one shared sideways glance with her tear filled eyes, he's sees his own torment staring back at him. It's like looking in a mirror. She is as hurt as he is.

And she has just thrown him that lifeline.

And he grabs hold of it with everything he's got left. Because if he doesn't let this beast out he won't be able to stop it from destroying something.

Probably himself.


	9. You Know I Would

_This chapter took me a long time to write! I just kept going over it, and thinking about how Ressler and Liz would be with each other after so long apart. Alone in the forest, I kept thinking 'what would they say to each other?' So I hope I have done it justice! Now we have to wait weeks for January 7 and we will find out just what he did say to her and what happens next._

* * *

The soft yellow and green dappled light of the forest surrounds them in its calmness, belying the flurry of activity below the trees as he tackles her to the ground. Ressler can hear the rustle of the autumn leaves under his knees above his hurried breathing. And if he listens over that he can hear the beating of his heart thumping through his chest. He has caught her, and she's struggling under his hand as he yells at her then begs her to stop. And all he can see are her eyes. It's been so long since he's looked at her and really been close enough to see the soft blue in them. And what he sees in them would drop him to his knees if he weren't already on them.

Fear. She is afraid of him.

"You wouldn't," she pants looking into the barrel of his automatic weapon.

The aching hole inside him deepens as he searches her face. In another time and in another forest he had held her to him as she crumbled on a wooded pathway. And now two years of being her partner have ended with him pinning her down on this forest floor as his prisoner. She's his partner – ex partner, he reminds himself – yet he barely recognizes who she is anymore. He doesn't want to hold her at gunpoint but he can't risk her running again. Not when there is no one to let her run back to with Reddington missing. The never ending torment of 'catch her/protect her/let her go' has come full circle from the moment he stood in the access corridor with her. The decision he made before the power came back on has all led to this, and all those weeks of having her slip through his fingers time and time again have come to an abrupt stop.

He wants to tell her so many things, but nothing would sound right to her – or to him. Nothing would convey the torment that swirls within him, fighting to do what's needed as his heart aches. That he doesn't want to have to arrest her. But he needs to.  _It's so easy to lose perspective. Forget what really matters._ His words echo in his brain as he looks down at her. He's held two women close to him in the past 12 hours. One out of desperation and hurt that filled a physical need yet did nothing for his heart, and now the one he needed all along is looking up at him. The one he now has to throw to the wolves since he has her in custody. Yet she knows him and that is where he turns.

"I would. You know I would."

Deep down he knows he wouldn't. He couldn't. And Liz knows that too - or used to, when they were partners. He's no longer sure how much of his partner is left inside of her. Her time on the run has changed her, and definitely changed him. Yet he sees it in her eyes as she meets his as she lays at his knees. The fear dims and the fight leaves her. The tension under his hand lessens as he feels her give in to him. They both know it's over. And he's well aware that her acquiescing has nothing to do with the fact he would shoot her, but with the fact she won't put him in that position.

But one thing remains. The job and the task he has before him. The same job he'd willingly have left behind the previous afternoon. Would have just walked away from the pain and loss and never looked back. But the one thing that refocused him and brought him back was that his partner needed him. The very same partner who is now so close his knees are touching her thighs and belly as she lays on the leafy carpet beneath her. Far 'better' he be the one to bring her in than some hotshot agent.

It's time to do what he couldn't do all those weeks ago in an access hallway, illuminated in the rotating red strobe lights.

"Elizabeth Keen, you're under arrest."

There's no mistaking the tightness in his throat as he utters those words, and the pain in her eyes matches the look in his own. How has it come to this? They were partners and friends. They leaned on each other. Shared secrets. Shared a bottle of wine on her birthday…and so much more.

With an effort, he refocuses and refuses to let his mind wander further from the task at hand. Because to do so will drown him. As he holsters his weapon to retrieve his cuffs, he knows now that she won't run. Her eyes look up at him as he places the cuff around her left wrist before bringing her right wrist up to meet it. As he clasps the cuffs on her a gasp escapes her.

"No," she whispers. There is no more attempt to run left in her, yet Liz is still in there. "Ressler. Please, don't."

She uses his full name, just as he is using 'Keen'.

The cuffs are unnerving her, and she doesn't deserve to be trussed up like a criminal. He doesn't deserve to have to be the one to bring her in, but pushes that thought aside. Each of them has a role to play in this. He doesn't trust his voice to answer her. With her wrists cuffed in front of her his arm reaches under her back and helps her sit up as he kneels beside her. She's closer to him now as she turns and silently regards him. His eyes find hers and in that moment he almost takes the cuffs off. He doesn't even need to tell her that. She sees it in his eyes.

"We don't have to do this," she tells him, searching his face. "There's no one else here."

But that is precisely why he has to do it this way. He's too close to her, physically and emotionally. It would be too easy to let her go again. "I have to, Keen." He can't call her Liz yet. To do so would break the tenuous thread he's clinging to. "If I don't, someone else will."

She's peering at him now, attempting to read what's behind his eyes. "What's going on with you?"

He doesn't answer, but also can't look her in the eyes for very long, and drops his gaze.

"You're different," she says quietly.

He meets her eyes again. "So are you," he replies then drops his eyes to the leafy floor around them.

"Yeah," she shrugs. "Being on the run and having a bounty on your head and half the country looking for you will do that." And the tone of her voice brings his head up.

"You made a choice to kill Tom Connolly and you need to pay the price for that." And it's Samar's words to him, and they're out before he can pull it back in. Because he really had told himself he wasn't going to tell her that, yet there it is, out in the open.

She shakes her head. "Listen to you. Red was right. You sound like an FBI robot that they wind up. What the hell happened to you?"

What the hell happened? She knows what happened. But perhaps she's not aware of the fallout from it. Perhaps she's been too far removed to see what lies of her shattered task force. She can't see the lonely solitude inside him and how desperate he is to escape this task that's dragging him down. Bringing Liz in and achieving his goal hasn't helped that in any shape or form.

"It's my job to-"

"Don't!" she yells at him, startling him as she breaks the calm of the woods. "Don't do that!"

He snaps back to look at her. "You don't get it, do you?" he tells her, gritting his teeth. "If I don't do this, someone else will. And they won't have your best interests at heart." How can she not see that?

"My best interests? Is that what you call this?" she raises her wrists with his handcuffs adorning them. Steel bracelets indicating how much things have changed between them. His eyes land on the clinking metal cuffs, and he realizes that while he may not be wearing cuffs he's as trapped as she is.

"I don't have a choice."

"Bullshit, Ress. You always have a choice," she snaps at him.

He's staring at her and sees something in her that's been hidden under the surface for a long time, yet has now risen to the fore. "You're more like him now. You sound more like Reddington."

His words take the sting out of her reply. "I know. I've found a part of me that I wasn't sure was ever there, but it was. And I'm not proud of what I've done. Any of it."

"Nor am I," he tells her, and all he can think of is last night and who he spent it with. And while it might have helped temporarily, he's still the same inside. And the thought that's plagued him all day voices itself in his mind. Did he really fire Samar for aiding and abetting, or for something else? Because if it was something else, then he's sunk even lower than he realizes.

She watches the play of emotions across his face. Unable to decipher what's in his mind, she knows the look. She's seen it before in the snow and in Sitka. Her partner is struggling. "And I made you do this," she whispers, biting her bottom lip as she sits on the leafy ground.

He shakes his head and swallows against the lump in his throat. "No. This is as much my fault," he tells her, seeing the shine of tears in her eyes. And before he realizes what he's doing, his fingers reach for her hair. His breath catches as she flinches at his touch, yet as he brings his hand away from her to show her the crispy brown leaf gently plucked from her hair, she understands. As she dips her head, he gently pulls more leaves away hearing them crunch lightly in the still afternoon. He doesn't ask and she doesn't say no.

And in that one moment, she's Liz again. He's needed to talk to her for so long and now she's right here, sitting as he takes the leaves from her hair for her while her hands are cuffed. He almost wishes there were more leaves as he drops his hand and gently brushes the last of them from her back. And the thought comes, despite his efforts not to let it. He's missed her. Painfully so. He might have to drag her back into FBI Headquarters shackled like a criminal - like Raymond Reddington - yet for this brief moment before all hell breaks loose, he's doing one small thing for her. Her chin lifts as she meets his eyes.

"Thanks," she tells him, and again he almost uncuffs her.

He nods, hesitates and looks away briefly then back at her. "We need to-"

"I know," she says and gathers her knees under her. His arm finds her and helps her to her feet while her hands are out of commission.

He needs her to know something first though. "Liz…" she meets his eyes, standing before him as his arm holds hers. "I intend to keep you safe from harm, understand?" he pleads with his eyes as she looks at him. "The longer you're out here, the more danger you're in and I can't-"

He can't see her dead again on national TV.

"But I already was safe."

He shakes his head, still standing still and not making an effort to leave the spot. "How safe are you gonna be on your own with Reddington missing?" As he mentions Reddington he sees the flash in her eyes. He's hit a nerve.

"She told you!" she hisses, looking away quickly then back at him.

He can't discuss Samar with her right now. "No, she didn't. I found the search she did and that gave us your location." He refrains from telling her more details on where the search was done. He definitely can't go there. But at the narrowing of her eyes, he knows she isn't entirely on board with his explanation.

"But with Reddington missing, Liz, it's not safe out here anymore. I trusted him to keep you safe. It's him I was sending you back to every time I-"

"I know that," she replies quickly, looking down at her cuffed wrists. "But the Cabal are everywhere, Ress. You know that, right?"

He nods. "I know. That's why I've made sure that Reven Wright and Laurel Hitchins vet everyone who has been involved in the search for you."

"Laurel Hitchins?"

"The President's National Security Advisor. Chairman of the Presidential Hearing," he replies, "or the 'cover-your-ass waste of time' hearing," he shrugs and is rewarded by the faintest of smiles from her. "Speaking of which…" he tells her, fishing his phone from his pocket and dialing a number. The phone rings out and he hears the message. "This is Reven Wright. Please leave a message and I will get back to you." For a moment he almost leaves the message that Liz is in custody but thinks better of it. That's not something he wants to leave on a message. He hangs up and slips his phone into his pocket as Liz looks at him questioningly.

"Look, I'll personally handle all your transport. I'm not gonna let you out of my sight while you're in custody," he reiterates.

She nods, yet he knows she's not convinced. It's time to go and with a gentle pull on her arm he turns and leads her back the way they came. It occurs to him he's not sure how far they ran into the woods as he was rather preoccupied at the time. The forest is quiet, save for the rustle of dry leaves under their feet and the distant chirp of birds. They walk silently, until he feels the silence pressing between them. He also feels the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and automatically draws his weapon.

"What is it?" she asks.

"I'm not sure," he tells her as he stops and listens, scanning the trees around them. "Just…being sure," But what he's sensing is his own dread at this situation as he determines there is nothing there among the trees. The chirping of the birds is telling him that. He's just determined that he will keep her safe as they move off again.

'Ress, I know you mean well. But you and I both know you can't keep me as safe as Red can." She stops, and looks quickly at him. "I mean…"

The words hurt. But he knows enough of Reddington's resources to know they're also the truth. Except Red is in the wind. "Yeah, well, in his absence I'm all you've got now," he tells her as she stops, causing him to step back to face her, hand still on her upper arm.

"You're gonna need to put me in the Box," she says quietly.

He nods, because he has known that for some time. It's the only way to keep her from harm, because all the kings' horses and all the kings' men couldn't break into that impenetrable fortress under Anslo Garrick. It's the safest place for her and yet the memories are difficult. Their eyes meet as they stop mid step again.

_ROMEO._

It's unspoken between them, but each share that one thought. He resumes walking, leading her with him again. They're further into the woods than he remembers and for a moment he is worried he's lost his sense of direction. But the thought that follows comes as a surprise. Would it really be so bad if they got lost? They could just keep walking and never look back. Just walk out of these woods together.

And as with the night before he decides he can't go there right now. But what he can acknowledge is that while Samar's life line helped at the time, the deep set pain remains buried inside him. And perhaps it's the look in his eyes or his silence, but she stops again and faces him.

"Are you okay?"

It's the same question he was asked less than 24 hours ago yet he can't answer her. The memory of what happened last time he answered that question too fresh in his mind. He hesitates, then nods, not trusting his voice

She's not buying it. "You're not okay. But you know what? Neither am I…" she tells at him as they step around a downed tree. A tree he doesn't remember running by. He stops and looks around.

"Don't tell me we're lost?" she asks, and again a small smile appears. "But would that be so bad…?" she asks him. And dammit if she's not echoing his own thoughts again. And the look he gives her lets her know loud and clear that part of him doesn't think that would be so bad. But they both know that's just not possible.

"It's not safe out here, Liz," he answers, sidestepping the question as he peers into the trees. "That way," he tells her, moving off again. It's not so much that he recognizes anything, because the trees all look the same. It's more a feeling.

"Ress, why are you alone out here?"

"I'm not alone, I'm with-"

"You know what I mean. Did you make Samar sit this one out because of the search I asked her to make?" she makes him stop, despite his attempt to keep hauling her along.

He turns to face her. She's a prisoner. She doesn't work for the FBI or his task force and this is basically a need-to-know operation. Yet that's not why he can't tell her. "I'm on my own on this one," he tells her deceptively. And he's not lying.

He's not going to answer the question, she can see that. But still she needs to talk to him. "You never asked me why."

"Why, what?" he asks. But he knows what because Cooper has already told him some of it. He just needs to hear her put it into words to make some semblance of sense in his brain.

"Connolly had dirt on Samar too, you know," she replies, gauging his reaction. "On all of us. Even Aram. I mean, how can sweet Aram have done anything that would cause the Cabal to want to bring him down?" she asks, shaking her head.

Aram. The guy he just gut crunched today with his…indiscretion. He remains silent while she talks, standing with her under a large tree.

"He was going to take us all down, one by one, and destroy the task force, Ress. Everything we have worked for with Reddington would be gone. You said it yourself - how many people are gonna die if the task force gets shut down. And I couldn't let him do that."

"I know that. But the rate we're going the task force is disappearing before our eyes anyway," he replies.

"Well, I know I'm gone and Red's involvement is…" she searches for the word.

"I know, Liz. But you still killed the Attorney General. And while I know you had nothing to do with the OREA bombing and Senator Hawkins, Tom Connolly wasn't fabricated," he replies, looking at his watch. They need to get moving before they start losing the light.

"He knew about your addiction, Ress. How could he know that?"

He sighs. "I suspected, from something Cooper said and I've thought about that. Cooper said the Cabal got to his doctor and altered records to make him think he was dying. So how easy would it be to see how many times I refilled an Oxy prescription? It's not rocket science." He looks at her and feels the first connection he's felt with her in a long time. It's just a conversation, yet it's more than that. They're really talking. He's not asking her to turn herself in and she's not telling him to back off while she's trying to clear her name.

"I fired Samar." It's out before he has time to think.

"What?!" Her eyes shoot up to him "Why would you do that?"

He's been asking himself that same question all day. "Because she lied. She tipped you off when you were meeting with…your ex." He can't bring himself to say the man's name. "And she withheld information this morning on your whereabouts. I need to be able to trust my team."

"Says the man who let me go in the first place, and destroyed a Russian convoy to free me," she fires back at him. And he knows she's right. That's the issue he's been having in his internal argument all day.

"I know…" he tells her, looking at his watch again. "But we need to go. I'm amazed these woods aren't full of SWAT guys searching for us by now." But he doesn't move off, and instead holds her upper arm as he stands beside her. It's the first time he's spent any time with her in weeks. He takes in her blonde hair, her blue eyes and sees the sadness in her.

She sees it in him also. "I'm sorry, Ress. For all of this. For what it's done to everyone. And done to you. To us…"

Us. She knows it's there between them.

He nods. He's sorry too. More than she will ever know. He has promised to keep her safe, yet he still has to get her to the Post Office and safely installed in the box. He doesn't even need to pull her along. She moves off with him and within minutes they see they flashing blue and red lights between the trees. They falter and slow down at the sight.

"I'm gonna keep you safe, Liz."

"I know you will try, Ress. I know that."

He's going to do everything he can to keep his promise. They continue and come out from under the trees into the clearing by the roadside. He takes in the sight of the FBI and local law enforcement, and makes a beeline for his own SUV. The lights are still flashing on it, having left in such a hurry that he didn't even pull out the keys at the sight of her. An agent approaches him as he leads her to his vehicle amid the hive of activity.

"We have the gentleman in custody, sir," the man reports.

For a moment, Ressler thinks he is referring to Reddington, but that's just habit borne of hunting the man again. The agent is referring to Dembe and beside him, Liz inhales sharply at the sight of him sitting in the back of the patrol car looking out the window toward them. She nods to him, and Dembe silently returns the nod.

"We can secure the female prisoner-"

"No." Ressler cuts him off and leads Liz away toward his waiting SUV. It's a vehicle she's sat in a hundred times beside him as his partner. She's never sat in it as his prisoner. As he opens the passenger door she meets his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

"I know. I am too," he replies, unable to voice everything he's sorry about. As she sits, he buckles her seat belt for her since her hands are cuffed, then closes and locks the passenger door on her. Making his way around to the driver's side he sits heavily, hesitates then pulls out his phone again. He looks sideways at her as he hits Reven Wright's speed dial. And again it rings out and her message plays in his ear. Liz catches the narrowing of his eyes.

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure. Probably nothing," he replies as he drops his phone in his pocket.

He pulls out onto the forest road, noting that the light is fading. The yellow green light of the woods is now being replaced with a gold tint as the sun begins to set. Long shadows cross the road in front of them as he drives slowly through the parked vehicles. Neither of them speak. The reality has hit home that they may be sitting close by each other in their vehicle again, but they are further apart than they have ever been.

He steals a glance at her. Just as he's done so any times in the two years he has known her. He sees Liz, yet he also sees a stranger.

And he's never felt more alone and desperate in his life.


	10. I Believe You

_I finally got this chapter written last night and today! Yeah, I made it in time for tonight's episode! I loved 3x09. It had so much in it and our Keenler are back together for the first time in so long. It took a while to figure out just where to put a chapter into the episode. But on multiple viewings, I knew where I kept gravitating back to. The final scene with them sitting in the car. So that's where my chapter lies._

* * *

As the city lights slide by outside, Ressler looks out the car window, seeing yet not focusing. Thoughts tumble through his brain as if on a continual wash cycle; circling through his mind, unstopping and unrelenting. It's been a full day. One that started with him waking up with and then firing his coworker before seeking out and finally arresting his partner. Topped off with a shootout in the woods he wasn't sure they'd survive – with Tom Keen at his side, no less - before almost executing a member of the Cabal at his feet. A day that culminated with the gut slamming realization that he was surrounded by the Cabal inside the one place he had thought impervious to them. A day that almost saw Liz killed in his custody. And the day wasn't over yet.

It's taken a while to sink in, yet even now he's not capable of swallowing this bitter pill. The Cabal almost killed Liz. They certainly killed his boss. Reven Wright was a good woman who didn't deserve what happened to her. Hard, yet fair and so very much like Cooper, he had begun to trust her judgement and see her as a worthy ally. Yet now she is gone, taken out by the woman he spilled his heart and soul to at the Presidential Hearing. Laurel Hitchins is traitor to the country. Just like Tom Connolly. His eyes drop as understanding grows. For the first time, a real sense of just why Liz shot the man forms. He understands why she did it. It doesn't make it right but he finally understands where she was coming from.

The jingle of the cuffs on Liz's wrists draw his thoughts back to the here and now. Sitting quietly in the back seat of the US Marshall's vehicle, they haven't spoken. They don't know these two men up front. But they've been vetted by the Texas Tornado, and if Cynthia Panabaker says they're good men, then he has to accept they're good. Yet his experience with running to Hitchins asking for help is not sitting well at all. No matter how many twists and turns he gives it, it all comes up the same - nothing has changed since his own father was killed for not going on the take with his corrupt partner.

Or has it? His own partner is a lot of things, but corrupt is not one of them. It's not the same as his father and Tommy Markin. Nowhere near the same. He glances across at her. It's still new and surreal to have her this close to him, sitting a foot away from him and gazing out of her own window. She's been trying to stop the corruption all along, just as he has been attempting. On different sides of the law, certainly, but their goals are aligned.

The difference is she saw it everywhere while he was blind to it. The blinkers so firmly in place that he couldn't see what was going on around him. Nor did he listen. Everyone tried to tell him, even Tom Keen. Was it pride? Principals? He almost envied Tom Keen for not having them to be crushed. Almost. Most of him simply shrugged that statement off. Was it stubbornness? Lord knows, he's that. Naivety? If so, that would be the hardest to take. Has he really gone through life expecting the same moral fortitude that he strives to exhibit to be in everyone? He relents a little at that. No, he hasn't but he's held himself above it for so long that he didn't see it at his very feet. He's been looking at the world through rose tinted glasses and they just got ripped from his face revealing the world around him in its stark shades of black and grey. Revealing a corruption that runs so deep he no longer knows who to trust.

But that's not entirely true. Liz did shoot US Attorney General, and there is no denying that. But he can trust her.

He almost shot Solomon for the same reason. Granted, the man is a thug, albeit eloquent to the point he almost makes Reddington look like a sloth at times, but still, the sentiment was there. He would have shot the man in cold blood to stop him, just as Liz had shot Connolly. And while Cooper had been present at both events, the difference was Liz didn't have someone else to give her another reason not to do it. He'd been given that, and Solomon was alive right now due to his own dead father.

He looks down as the memory of seeing Cooper behind Solomon with his gun on Tom Keen comes to the fore. He'd laid his gun down, but never lost control of the situation, working in tandem with his boss. A small sigh escapes him. He hasn't had time in this whirlwind to even talk with Cooper. To explain that he knows it wasn't he who tipped off Tom Keen. To admit that he misjudged him. That he's misjudged a LOT these past weeks.

He swallows hard. The world is not the same one he woke up in this morning.

He steals a glance to his left, eyeing his quiet partner across the seat in the back of the SUV as they speed through the streets toward the Court House. Yes, she shot Connolly. But he is fully aware she did not set the bomb at the OREA building or poison Hawkins, despite lack of evidence to support his theory. But it's not a theory. He knows her and has no doubt she is innocent of both events. That much has always been clear. It's been the reason he's told so many people that what he believes doesn't matter. That his feelings on it don't count when there is a job to be done. And he's done his job, bringing her in, yet there is one thing he's not sure she's aware of. He's hidden it inside the façade of being the Acting Director. She's looking away from him, and that's probably good, because he might just falter if her eyes meet his before he opens his mouth to speak.

"For what it's worth," he pauses only as she turns to him, barely missing a beat. "I believe you were framed." There is no faltering hesitation in his words. He is speaking the truth to her and as the tears prick her eyes he knows she has heard that conviction.

She turns away quickly and in the half-light illuminating the right side of her cheek he sees her blinking back tears. His eyes never leave her and in the back of the car as they speed through the night he sees the hint of a smile, belied only by the tiny quiver of her bottom lip. She turns back to him, her shining eyes catching the street lights and nods imperceptibly.

Suddenly unable to speak, she doesn't need to. She's just told him more than words ever could.

###

Exiting the vehicle 10 minutes later Ressler is again on guard. His Spidey sense fully engages as he holds her arm, walking beside her in the underground parking garage of the Court House. Flanked by 4 armed gunmen he escorts her into the building as two more guards stand aside to let them through. The stark lights from inside the hallway momentarily blind him and instinctively he grips her arm a little tighter. And it's not because he thinks she will run. He just needs to keep her that close.

"We'll be down here, sir," one of the guards informs him, waving his hand to the cells at the end of a hallway to their right. Steering his partner toward them, he feels the muscles tense in her arm. He knows how she feels. He doesn't like this any better than she does, yet he needs to keep her safe until her arraignment in the morning.

Entering the first cell, Ressler gives it a once over. Exactly the same as every other prison cell. No privacy. Bars open for the world, or wardens, to see every move. A hard cot with over laundered white bedding and two thin blankets folded at the foot of the bed. A small sink and toilet pass as a bathroom.

"It's okay." Her whisper startles him. Apparently she's more okay with this than he is. It's not okay. But they have no choice if they are to clear her name in the morning. He nods to the Marshalls outside and in the same procedure as when she was placed in the Box, they unchain her and strip her bulky green vest from her body leaving her smaller and softer underneath it.

He doesn't want to lock the cell yet needs to, though he can't lock it while he's inside. With a glance at her eyes, he nods, almost asking permission. Her reply nod is what he needs as he steps back, outside the cell as he allows the guards to slide the bolt into place and secure the door. With a hard metal clank she's a prisoner once more, standing silently in the 15 x15 foot cell. Bars are between them once more, and it's not a prospect he's particularly at ease with. She drops to the cot, sitting down and breaking the spell he's apparently under.

Unasked for, a chair is placed beside him outside the cell. He thanks the guard. Is he really that transparent that it was obvious he wasn't leaving her alone? That would be a resounding yes. As the man retreats, Ressler has an odd moment of déjà vu as he pictures Clarice Starling slowing sitting down to face Hannibal Lecter. He shakes the imagery away. The chair outside the cell is where that similarity ends. Now, if he were outside the box and Reddington were inside, then maybe...

Liz slides up the cot toward the front of the cell, leaning on the brick wall behind her. He slides his chair closer in response. And he can tell himself that it's because he doesn't want the guards at the end of the hallway listening to him calling across to her, but he'd be kidding himself.

Liz rolls her head toward him, smiling as he repositions his chair beside the bars. "You're staying here tonight?"

"I promised I'd keep you safe. That's one promise I'm not breaking."

Her blonde hair falls forward as she turns, leaning against the wall to face him. "Have you been breaking promises?" she asks quietly.

Where to start on that one. Maybe not to others, but he's been breaking a lot to himself. He shrugs, gives a small shake of his head and leans forward to her but doesn't answer her question. "I'm not letting them take you, Liz." He almost adds that he gave his word to Red, but that's not why he's not going to let them take her. He didn't need Reddington telling him to keep her safe.

She's following his train of thought, unspoken as it is between them. They're still partners even after everything that's gone down. "You really think they'd try something here after the beating they took from that woman at the Post Office?" she asks, lifting her head off the wall to look at him fully.

"I'm not putting anything past them, not after what I've seen today," he tells her, as his eyes focus on the bars around her, hoping like hell it's enough to keep her safe.

Maybe it's the look in his eyes. The defeat that's lurking behind the stoic need to keep her safe. Something in him brings her closer to him as she slides closer to the bars and wraps her fingers around them, close by him as he sits on the other side of the cold metal divider.

"I didn't mean everything I said earlier today, at the other jail. I may not be ashamed that I shot a terrorist, but I am ashamed of putting my friends through all of this along with me… Of putting you through all of this," she says slowly, before raising her head and searching his eyes.

He recalls the conversation vividly, because at the time he couldn't understand why she wasn't ashamed. He understands now. All too well. He had been so blind to it and it was right in his own back yard. Right there, infiltrating the very walls of the Post Office bringing corruption and death in its wake.

And what he tells her surprises even himself. "They're all terrorists… of sorts," he replies, shaking his head slowly at the day's events. "I went to Hitchins and all but gave her your head on a platter and..." His voice trails off. "I just didn't…" and he can't finish the thought as her hand comes through the bar to rest on his arm. His eyes focus on her fingers resting on his forearm. A simple gesture, borne of friendship and concern and as his eyes meet hers he sees so much behind them. "I trusted the wrong people, Liz. I didn't see it."

He'd been so blind. Were they that good at hiding their tracks, or was he just that bad at reading them? He doesn't know the answer to that. "Why couldn't I see it?" he asks her, eyes narrowing at the memory of two words that had brought his well-placed trust crashing down around his ears. _Tommy Markin…_

"Don't," she tells him, her voice soft and low in the silence of the cell block. "Don't do that to yourself. It's not you who failed. The system failed you. Failed us." Under her fingers, he feels her gently squeezing his arm. He leans forward more, bringing him inches from her.

"You saw it, and tried to take out one of the top dogs. Tom Connolly." He shakes his head slowly, dropping his head gently to the bars to rest near her blonde hair on the other side. "But even taking him down, nothing changed, Liz. The Cabal still exists and is everywhere."

"I know…"

His eyes raise to hers, looking at her through the bars. "Who do we trust?"

Her hand is still on his arm and he feels the squeeze again. "Each other. Red. Aram. Cooper. Samar. Dembe. Mr Kaplan," she tells him softly, her words in his ears. "Even that squirmy little Glen from the DMV," she adds with a smile. And he's nodding before it occurs to him she left a name off her list.

"And what about Tom Keen?" He knows full well the man's name is Jacob Phelps, but he can't use that.

She gazes at a spot on the wall across from them as he watches her thoughts take shape. "There is no doubt that he's done a lot to help me out of this. He found Karakurt and I'm thankful. But do I trust him completely? I can't say that I do… I think he believes he's in love with me and all of this will bring me back to him."

Ressler raises his head more to look at her as she talks, her eyes still looking into the distance. She turns her focus back to him. "But it won't. I did love him, and will always have certain feelings for him, but no, I don't trust him," she says, before giving him a small smile. "Not in the way I trust you."

He returns the small smile with one of his own, barely registering on his features. She looks into his tired eyes as he replies. "I don't trust him as far as I could throw him. But I…" he stops, licks his lip and continues, "I saw something in him today that I didn't expect."

"Oh?" she asks, raising her eyebrows.

"A conscience," he says quietly, looking downward then back up at her. "I'm not sure Matias Solomon would be in custody tonight and I'd probably be in the cell next to yours if not for your ex." He shakes his head, remembering what Tom had said, "and yeah, I'm not happy about it either," he tells her with a soft chuckle.

"You're a good man. You don't shoot unarmed people," she says softly, her head dropping as she says it. Unlike her. The words are unspoken yet he can hear them as clearly as if she's uttered them.

"Connolly was armed. Just not with a gun," he tells her, pondering at how quickly he's changed and come to her side of the fence on that one. "And that's what we need Judge Trotter to understand in the morning," he adds as she raises her eyes and nods.

He glances at his watch. It's 1:27am and neither of them have had a wink of sleep in who knows how long. "So in about 5 hours they will come and move you, and I'll be right there every step of the way."

She nods, stifling a yawn.

"Why don't you try and get some sleep?" he tells her, stretching his back muscles as he sits up straighter in the small chair. "I'll stay right here."

"My hero," she smiles, her hand patting his arm before retreating back to her side of the bars.

"Right, I'm just a one-man justice league," he tells her and is rewarded by her warm smile as she reaches for one of the folded blankets on the cot. She lays down, keeping her head at the bars where he's sitting and it's all he can do not to put his hand through and stroke her hair.

###

They've been silent for about 20 minutes when she sits up again, blanket wrapped around her. Ressler has been unable to sleep with a brain that won't stop hurtling along at 60mph. "You alright?" he asks as she nods, sweeping a hand through her wayward hair.

"I can't sleep. I'm so tired, but I can't."

"Can't imagine why," he chuckles and it's her turn to shrug at him and roll her eyes. And he's missed even that from her.

Moving her arm back, she reaches for the second blanket and passes it through the bars to him. "Here, it's not exactly warm back here."

The concrete wall is cold on his back, he has to admit, and he thanks her as she passes the blanket to him. And it's only then that he realizes the blankets are light blue as he wraps it around his shoulders. Blue blankets have always been around each of them in times of comfort. She smiles, causing him to wonder if she's made the connection too.

"I need to ask you something…" she says, her hand finding the bar again.

He's looking at her fingers close to him, and nods. "Okay."

"If they clear me tomorrow-"

"When. When we clear you," he asserts, not letting her think that way. He doesn't know what Reddington is up to, yet trusts the man enough to know it's something big. They have Karakurt safely stashed away waiting to be their star witness, and all the chess pieces are lining up for the final match in the morning. They will clear her name.

"Okay, WHEN they clear me, and if the Bureau lets me return, do you…" she falters and he meets her eyes. He already knows what she's asking him.

"Yes, I still want you to be my partner." He won't have it any other way. Not after this. He needs her at his side after weeks of chasing after her. And it's not just because he knows he can trust her.

"Thank you," she whispers as a tear escapes and rolls down her cheek.

He doesn't hesitate, reaching through the bars to wipe the tear gently away. "Don't…" it's his turn to tell her not to do that now. "We're almost there, Liz. We're going to get you through this."

Her hand leaves the bar and wraps her fingers around his, holding his hand on her side of the bars as another tear rolls free. "Thank you," she whispers, turning his hand gently in hers, before her lips find the back of his hand to lay a soft kiss on his skin.

Holding his hand in hers she lays it on her cheek and meets his eyes. For the first time in weeks, the pressure and weight eases up on his shoulders. A pressure he had grown so accustomed to he'd barely felt it. But as it eases, as she holds his hand the first true realization that this is almost over comes to the fore. They're almost home. The possibility of this being behind them soon and her returning to sit across from his desk is becoming a reality.

But far more than the pressure lifting from his shoulders, he feels his heart begin to lift. The vice-like grip that has held it prisoner for so long relents while the dark hole inside him experiences the first light and hope he's felt in a very long time.

And all he can do is nod to her, unable to voice what he's feeling.


	11. I'm Not Going Anywhere

_I was slow getting this chapter up, and partly because there was so much Keenler in 3x10 that I didn't want to 'compete' with what we were given! But mainly because my ideas were having trouble getting out and onto paper. I had the ideas and notes, but nothing was materialising!_ _So, this chapter is for alyblacklist on tumblr. My muse woke up and took flight after we talked. This one's for you :-)_

* * *

Ressler is sure the chair is trying to kill him. He stands up yet again, stretching his back muscles out of yet another threatening cramp. Pulling the blue blanket around him, he takes a few steps in the low light and then turns back to look into the jail cell beside him. After telling him she couldn't sleep, Liz had fallen asleep almost mid-sentence as they had talked quietly. Now laying across from him on the cot, he studies the outline of her sleeping form, covered in a similar blue blanket to his own. The bars may be between them yet still he watches the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she sleeps. Blonde hair in disarray around her, no makeup, and features that are worn even in sleep, he takes in every inch of her. It's the first time he's had the opportunity since he brought her in.

She's different. But then so is he, undoubtedly. What has happened to them over the last few weeks is unfathomable. In all the years he chased Reddington, he never once felt personally involved. But then, there is a marked difference. Reddington is a master criminal, always several steps ahead and with resources that leave the Bureau looking like a second grade teacher who hasn't enough coloring pencils for her class. Not once in all the time he hunted Reddington did he lay awake at night, unable to sleep while thinking of his prey. Not once in his hunt for the criminal did he lose his direction. Lose his way. Lose his sense of self. Not once in 5 years. And yet 5 weeks with Liz had dropped him to his knees emotionally and physically, leaving a gaping hole in the very centre of his being.

And of course, he knows why. He's well aware of the difference. He knew the day she ran that it was going to be difficult. He knows why he couldn't hold her back. Just like that hokey poster he's seen a few times. "If you love something let it go. If it comes back to you, it's yours. If it doesn't, it never was." And as he watches Liz sleeping near him, he leans on the bars, gripping the cold metal in his hand. He has let her go so many times, yet the time for running had to end. He has one thing in common with the damn poster. He loved her and let her go. He's yet to find out if she is his.

The sigh escapes his lips and looking down at the concrete floor for a moment, he returns back to his chair. There is nowhere else to sit and nothing else to do but watch and be alert, as there is no way he's going in search of a coffee or something to eat. To do so would mean leaving her side and he has no intention of doing that.

But the coffee gods must be smiling on him. Almost simultaneously with his thought, one of the US Marshalls approaches, the light from the desk area outlining him in silhouette. Ressler reaches instinctively for his gun at his right hip, only to remember his gun is in a locker outside the cell block entry. "No guns in the pens," he was told as he brought her to the cell. Yet he already knew that rule. Still, it feels wrong. How is he supposed to protect her when he's unarmed?

"Just made a fresh pot and thought you might need a shot," the man says, handing Ressler a foam cup, a pot of coffee in his other hand.

"You read my mind, thanks," he tells the Marshall as he pours him a steaming cup of black coffee.

The Marshall glances inside the cell behind Ressler. "Court will be open in a few more hours, then there will be no more time for sleep. We get up early around here. Still, you're the only ones on this block tonight. Quiet in here. Can't say the same for outside with the choppers and newsies out there. Your girl here is a major story, that's for sure."

Ressler listens to the man, sipping on his hot coffee. It's hitting the spot. But not nearly as much as the two words the Marshall has just spoken. _'Your girl…'_ He glances at Liz again, then back to the man, nodding. "That she is…" he says quietly, as the Marshall gives him a nod.

"If you need anything, I'll be on duty till 6am. Stevens is taking over with his team at that point. Have a good one."

Ressler salutes him with his coffee and watches as the man turns and departs, stalking back down the cream tiled hallway. The lights are on at the cell block entrance, but dimmed down at this end of the hallway. He's settling back in his chair, adjusting his blanket and doing a great job of not spilling his coffee when he hears Liz's voice.

"Oh my god, this cot's trying to kill me," she complains, wincing and rubbing her shoulders and neck as she slowly sits, blinking as she takes in her surroundings again. "I see not much has changed."

Ressler smiles, facing her. "Yes it has, I got coffee. I can officially go another 24 hours without sleep."

She chuckles, stands and makes her way to the bars again, sitting down near him. "My hero," she tells him as he turns in the chair and passes the cup through the bar. "It's black, but hey, it's caffeine," And he's sharing his coffee with her because it's the most natural thing in the world to do at that point. Because they have shared much more than a coffee in their past history. A history that has been making its way back to the forefront of his mind for several hours now. Settling in, filling in the gaping holes that had taken its place.

Her eyes meet his over the cup as she sips, "Thanks," she tells him, handing him his cup again. "I need to pee," she says and his eyes meet hers.

"Where have I heard that before? And just like then, as now, I won't look," he tells her, turning his head away.

"You're such a gentleman, you know that?"

He nods, hearing her undress behind him. "A gentleman and a scholar, so I've heard,"

"And really hard to outrun," she chuckles and he can't help it, and grins. And in all the weeks of her running and him chasing he'd found it increasingly harder to believe he could ever see her again. Ever be in her presence again. Talk to her. Smile with her. Laugh with her. And yet here she is a few feet from him and trusting him with her very life. And peeing in front of him, but hey, that's perfectly fine with him too.

Drying her hands on her prison jumpsuit, she comes back to the bars as he turns back to her and passes the last of the coffee to her.

"Thanks," she tells him, gathering her blanket around her shoulders again. As she finishes the cup, he reaches through for the empty cup to deposit it in a small trash can on his side of the bars.

"What time is it?"

He stretches out his left arm to look. "It's 3:25am," he tells her.

"We've only been here 2 hours?! Oh, my gosh, I thought it was almost time for Gaines to show up."

"Nope, still got a few more hours," he replies, leaning back on the wall behind them. "May as well try and sleep, Liz. You got a big day tomorrow…"

"Have we heard any more from Red?" she whispers, not wanting the Marshalls to hear, though there is no way they can hear as far down the hall as they're sitting.

"Only that he's getting the pieces in play. Our instructions are the same. Get the Russian here on his 'go' tomorrow morning, and make sure he's seen," he tells her quietly, looking through the bars at her. "We're going to do this, Liz."

She takes in a deep breath, "Yeah… I just…" she stops to cover a yawn with her hand, and simply nods. He knows what she's saying. He knows what her fear is. It's the same as his own.

"I'll curl up on this cot again. Maybe it can kill me before the Cabal do." Her quick look to him catches his grim look as he stands at the bars again. "Sorry," she whispers, giving a small grimace.

"I told you, I'm not going anywhere, Liz."

And despite the hard metal cot under the thin mattress, he watches her as she drifts off to an uneasy sleep as he guards her outside her cell.

###

He's not asleep, but is calm, sitting on his oh-so-comfortable chair when he hears her gasp. His head snaps around at the sound as he rises to his feet. She's still asleep, but gone is the calm rise and fall of her chest. Deep breaths overtake her as a small cry escapes her. He knows the look. He's felt it himself a hundred times when in the grip of a nightmare.

"Liz," he calls gently, but she can't hear him. "Liz," he calls, louder now, standing at the bars with both hands gripping the cold metal.

She's panting now, still asleep, and he makes out what she is saying.

"Can't breathe!" she gasps, and now she's stirring a little more, still gasping. He needs to wake her, yet he can't get to her with a locked door between them.

"Liz, wake up, it's okay."

She's still asleep as her hands find her chest and throat, sucking in a lungful of air. "I can't breathe!" It's no longer a whisper as she dreams, as her voice fills the cell.

"Liz! You can breathe! It's a dream!" He rattles the door to the cell, looks at the end of the hallway where the Marshalls are apparently playing cards. He's torn, needing to stay with Liz, yet needing the key to the door.

The decision is made as she sits bolt upright and lets out a scream.

"Dammit." He runs for the Marshalls, but they're already on their feet and coming toward him.

"What the-?" the coffee wielding Marshall asks as Ressler hurtles toward him.

"The key! Give me the key!"

"Well, protocol-"

"Screw protocol. Give me the damn key!" Ressler yells at him, hearing Liz letting out another yell from the cell. "I need to get in there!"

"Fine, I'll unlock it for-" but the Marshall doesn't get the chance as Ressler grabs the key and turns, running back to the cell.

"Liz, I'm here. Hang on," he tells her, trying to keep his eyes on her as she's clawing at her chest yet needing to aim the key into the lock. With a metallic scrape he feels it slip home and turns it, unlocking the door. In seconds the door clangs open and he's at her side, sitting on the cot.

Wild eyes glare back at him, and for a moment he's not even sure that she's truly awake. "It's a dream! You can breathe, Liz!" But she's not listening.

"I can't! They were trying to kill me! Ress!"

It's not just a dream, he knows that. It's a dream based on a memory. And again he knows all too well how desperate those are. All those sweat drenched nights of scream inducing nightmares after Audrey's death that left him panting and tear soaked in his bed. He knows. He also knows what he desperately needed each and every time. What he needed and never had.

He takes her in his arms, hugging her tight to him, feeling her struggling against him. His head drops to her hair, hugging her with every inch of him as he sits beside her on the cot.

"Can't!" Can't breathe!" Her muscles are rigid in his arms, as his chin finds the back of her hair, hugging her to him.

And now he doesn't yell at her to get through to her. His mouth drops to her ear, and softly he talks to her. "You can breathe. You can. Feel my chest rising as you lean against me. Feel my heart beating against you. You can breathe. I've got you."

"Can't!"

"Yes, you can. Breathe with me, Liz. Breathe. Feel me hugging you tight, and feel me breathing against you. Follow my lead. Breathe with me."

"Can't."

"You already are. Keep going. Breathe with me, Liz. I've got you. I'm not going anywhere."

Her muscles loosen against his arms, and still he whispers to her as her chest heaves against him. "I've got you. Breathe with me."

"Can't…"

"Yes you can. Breathe with me here. I've got you," he whispers.

Her arms, held at her sides until now find their way around his waist and cling to him as he hugs her. Shaking now, he feels her face in his chest as the tears flow. She's sobbing, but she's breathing. His hand finds her head, cradling her to him.

"I've got you, Liz. I won't let them get you." His chin and hand cradle her head to him as she sobs, wetting his shirt with her tears.

"Ress…" her strangled sob reaches his ears, and instinctively, he hugs her even tighter.

"I know. I know, Liz," his hand rubs her back now, feeling the canvas feel of the prison jump suit. "I'm right here."

The sobs slow as he holds her, whispering to her in comfort. He's done this before, but the stakes have never been this high.

"Ress, they tried… they took the air from the box…"

"I know, Liz, I know." He'd spoken to Aram on the phone once they had Liz secure, and heard first-hand what the Director had done. "I've got you here."

"Yes, you do," she tells him and the sobs start anew.

"It's okay, let it out," he whispers. And suddenly he's back at his apartment, punching the shit out of his punching bag and wishing like hell he could have cried to let it out. And holding her close against him, he gives her what he couldn't find and had so desperately needed that afternoon. Someone to hold him tight.

His lips find her hair and under his embrace, her shuddering sobs slowly abate. And still her arms are around him as her head rests on his chest. He's in no hurry to let her go, giving her that choice, holding her against him. Her breathing is steady on his chest and he wonders if she has fallen asleep.

But her head rises, and red rimmed, bloodshot eyes meet his. The blue orbs small and watery as she holds his eyes. In one smooth motion, her lips are on his and his mouth answers her, holding her close. Pulling gently back from him, her eyes are closed, then open again to look at him.

She doesn't say a word, and doesn't need to as she sits up beside him, still leaning close to him with his arm around her shoulders. Her head drops to his shoulder and her eyes close. She's exhausted. He's surprised when she speaks.

"I nearly died today… and I still think they will try again before this is all done." Her voice is soft, a little shaky, yet the words have conviction.

He drops his head and leans close to hers. "I'll do everything I can to keep you safe."

"I know you will," she whispers, a momentary hitch in her voice. "And if this is to be my last night on earth, I couldn't think of anyone I'd rather spend it with than you." Her lips find his cheek, kissing him lightly before she settles in beside him again.

She's quiet, and it's a few minutes before he realizes she's fallen asleep on him. He holds her, his arm around her as he listens to her steady breathing. The thought of the Cabal trying to take her air supply and kill her right in the very box he placed her in for safety brings a scowl to his features. Whatever plan Reddington has in play, it's not going to be nearly enough punishment for the Director. Of that he's sure.

She slips a little on his shoulder in her sleep and gently he rises from her side, supporting her as he lays her down. Standing, he watches her sleep a moment then removes his jacket, folds it and places it under her head for a pillow. She barely even stirs as he gives it to her.

And kissing her cheek, he then stands again and slowly exits the cell to reluctantly lock the door again. For the first time he sees the two US Marshalls in the hallway and with a nod he tosses them the key. They turn and resume their spot in the cell block entrance, picking up their cards again.

Ressler sits again in his assigned spot, his chair still hard and unyielding. Yet this time he barely notices as he watches her sleep, his own words echoing in his head.

He wasn't only referring to tonight while he guards her. He knows it in his heart.

He's not going anywhere.


	12. I'm Glad You're Here

_Just a short chapter that takes place between 3x11 and 3x12. When we saw Liz beaten and in the hospital, I needed Ressler to go to her._

* * *

"Donald."

Reddington's call comes as he's leaving the Post Office and walking to his vehicle in the parking lot. He hasn't spent a lot of time with Reddington since Liz was exonerated, yet he hears the tension in the man's tone immediately.

Ressler stops mid step. "What's wrong?"

"Elizabeth. She's in the hospital-"

"Shit." Ressler's heart skips a beat before he jogs to his car, hitting the button on his keys as he interrupts Reddington. "What happened?"

"A lowlife individual who has no place breathing the same air we inhale beat her simply because of who she is, or who he imagines her to be. He took matters into his own hands in a vicious display that left her beaten and unconscious on the ground."

At every word, Ressler is torn between disbelief, horror and anger. "Which hospital? What room?" He asks, gunning the engine as he listens to the criminal's voice.

"George Washington. I can't get there yet and don't have the exact room, but she will be on the third floor."

And without further word Reddington is gone, leaving Ressler holding his phone a moment longer, heart pounding in his chest as he once again sends silent, begrudging kudos to the criminal. Reddington must have eyes everywhere to know her every move and for that he's grateful in times like this. Other times, not so much.

The streets aren't overly busy at this time of night, yet every red light and slow vehicle in front frustrates him. After several muttered 'get the hell out of my way' and colorful expletives to the cars in front, he pulls into the parking lot at the hospital almost 30 minutes later. Exiting the vehicle he walks briskly, looking up at the building. He doesn't like hospitals and has spent far too much time in them; though that is something he's managed to correct the last couple of years, at least. The curved glass frontage above the entry rises above him, lit with a few well-placed spotlights illuminating the 5 story building. In the distance an ambulance is waiting silently at the helipad, red strobe lights rotating and catching the corner of his eye. He spares it a cursory glance with a momentary feeling of deja vu. His left thigh almost hurts anew at the hazy memory of that barely recalled ride from the Post Office.

Shaking the memory away he enters the lobby and heads straight for the bank of elevators on the far wall. The lobby is all but deserted at this time of night as he passes the information desk adorned with its well-used sign indicating the pink ladies will return in the morning to assist patients and visitors. He takes it all in with a sweeping gaze, hearing the loud ding of an elevator arriving on the ground floor. Startling an elderly gentleman waiting to exit the elevator, he steps inside before the doors have fully opened.

"Excuse me, sir," he nods in apology as he slams the button to the third floor, then looks up at the elevator lights, willing it to start upward.

And suddenly he's not sure what name she will have been admitted under. The fact she's in the hospital at all is because she was recognized. His stomach clenches at that. Her picture has been plastered all over the media – both dead and alive – for weeks and it's been a difficult task reintegrating back into society for her. Even getting an apartment was not easy and he knows she's been wary giving her name. Arriving on the third floor the elevator bumps to a stop and exiting, he makes his way the nurses station.

"May I help you, sir?"

"Uh, yeah, I'm here to see… Elizabeth Keen. I don't have the room number," he tells the nurse at the desk.

"Oh, I'm sorry, but Ms Keen is not receiving visitors at this time," the nurse tells him after consulting the computer screen in front of her.

He wasn't expecting that. Ressler eyes the woman, trying his best not to look like he's here to cause Liz further harm. When she doesn't relent, fixing his eyes with an 'are you still here?' raised eyebrow, he looks away. Somewhere in a pharmacy near his own apartment, this woman has a twin.

"What was your name, sir?" The voice is different and looking back up, Ressler sees another nurse coming from the small room behind the nurse's station, clipboard in hand as she steps up to the desk.

"Donald Ressler."

"Aaahh, Mr Ressler. Yes, Ms Keen's Uncle Ray cleared you to see her. She's in 314, down the hall on the right."

Ressler suppresses a small smile. Good ole Uncle Ray.

And resisting the urge, barely, to return his own 'I told you so' glare to the first nurse, he thanks the second woman then turns in the direction she's indicating.

###

Locating her room about half way down the hallway, he hesitates a moment. Does he knock? Should he just walk in? What he really wants to do, and is holding himself back from doing, is rush in and make sure she's okay. He opts for something between all three. He knocks, opens the door before she's answered and steps in, closing the door behind him again. The room is dark, lit only by a soft light over the small hand washing sink as the familiar whir of the IV pump greets his ears. For a moment he's not sure if she's awake as he moves to the bed, coming to stand inside the drawn curtain that's giving her privacy from the door.

And what he sees makes him gasp. Her eyes are closed as she lies back in her hospital gown, the head of her bed half raised as she rests. Dark bruises, tinged with yellow and purple cover her face, with a deeper shade around her left eye. Cuts and scrapes cover her hands that are partially bandaged. He's not sure if she hears him or senses him but her eyes open and find him. In the low light he is silhouetted and for a second he sees the momentary fear in her eyes.

"It's me, Liz. It's me," he tells her, moving quickly to her side, grasping the railing of her bed. Of its own accord his other hand reaches for her then draws back from her wet face. It's not so much that she's crying, but that her swollen eyes can't stop tearing up. And unable to locate a single place on her face that isn't bruised in which to lay his hand he lands on her hair, resting there.

"Ress…" she whispers, barely able to open her mouth with the swelling around her jaw.

"Liz, I…" he tells her, leaning forward on the bed railing, searching every inch of her beaten face. He should have been with her. This never should have happened. His promises of 'I'll keep you safe,' and 'I'm not going anywhere' have failed. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," she whispers as her bandaged left hand finds his arm. Her eyes close, and this time the wetness comes from a single tear that rolls slowly down her bruised cheek.

"How bad are you hurt, Liz?"

"Oh, some broken ribs, a lot of bruising, cuts, scrapes… and…"

"And?" he asks as she stops.

"…and a mammoth headache," she adds, closing her eyes.

His hand strokes her hair as he leans closer to her, his lips gently caressing her forehead, fearful of hurting her more before kissing her softly.

"How did you know so soon?" she asks as he draws back, meeting her sleepy, half closed eyes.

"You know Red is aware of everything about you, Liz. He called me as I was leaving work."

And despite the pain and the momentary jolt it brings to her broken ribs she chuckles and squeezes his arm. "Everything? I hope not, Ress."

"He knows, Liz. You know that. He's all but told me he does in the things he said to me while you were on the run." He smiles at her, kisses her forehead again and gently strokes her hair again. "But you know what?"

She looks at him as he hovers close to her face, "You're not going to let that stop you. Stop us," she tells him.

They can no longer hide that there is an 'us'. Even while on the run, they needed to call each other and talk, if only for the briefest of moments. The connection was still there, forced apart by circumstances, yet undeniably there. He fired Samar for doing the very same thing he'd been doing all along. The difference was he knew his motives. He did not know Samars.

He nods, "Yeah, but he's never once given me the 'you need to leave, Donald' speech." He shrugs, gives her a small smile and holds her eyes.

She chuckles at his imitation of Reddington's voice, wincing suddenly at the pain that shoots through her ribs. He strokes her hair in response.

As she calms, she holds his eyes silently, and something is there behind them. Something he hasn't seen before. A longing. Wistfulness for something just out of her reach that lingers on her lips yet is left unsaid.

"What is it?" he asks, tilting his head slightly.

She doesn't say as a hint of a smile comes. She raises her hand to his cheek. "I'm glad you're here, Ress," she whispers, then closes her eyes, extinguishing the longing for something that lurks behind her eyes as he reaches for her hand.

With eyes closed she rests, and as he listens to her breathing it becomes steadier. She is falling asleep. And despite the fact that his back isn't all that comfortable leaning over her, he's not moving just yet. He wasn't with her when she was attacked and isn't ready to leave her side yet.

###

Some time later he has moved to the recliner, propped himself up with a somewhat comfortable pillow and sits alone in the darkened room as she sleeps. The night nurse has been in a couple of times, and gently knocks on the door before letting herself in again.

"I'm pleased she's able to sleep," she whispers to Ressler as she takes vitals, jotting them down in her notebook. "She refused pain meds," she tells him, looking at her chart. "Oh, I see…"

She's cut off by the door to the room opening. Ressler eyes the fedora clad silhouette of the man and isn't surprised. In fact, he wonders why it took this long for him to come by.

"Donald," he whispers, coming to stand at the foot of her bed. "How's she doing?"

"Not too bad. She's been asleep a couple of hours now," he tells Reddington, keeping his voice low.

The nurse finishes and exits the room, leaving the two men together. Reddington steps to the head of the bed and leans down. Ressler knows exactly how he feels as Red takes in the injuries to her face. The clench of teeth in Reddingtons jaw match Ressler's own response to the beating she sustained. He shakes his head, lightly kisses Liz's forehead as she sleeps and then comes to sit on the chair beside Ressler.

"So she has some broken ribs, contusions, and I'm sure a massive headache," Red says, more as a statement than a question. "Has she said anything about…how she feels?" he asks Ressler, turning to the agent.

And Ressler isn't positive, yet he should be if past experience has taught him anything, but Reddington is hiding something. Something about Liz.

"Should there be something else she needed to tell me?" he asks the man squarely, still keeping his voice low for fear of waking her. Because he'd seen something in her eyes. Barely there and just below the surface, yet it was there for those who knew her well enough to see it.

"In times like this we reach for those around us. Lizzie is going to need those of us who care for her, Donald. Even if she hasn't said so, she's scared. She's going to be afraid of going out in public alone. And that is going to take her a little while to recover from." He meets Ressler's eyes in the darkened room. "I know you will be there for her."

Ressler looks at the criminal. He's never been given the 'marching orders' speech as he'd half joked earlier. On the contrary, he's had Reddington tell him he needs his help in keeping Liz safe. But he's never heard it this openly spoken. He nods. Of course he will be there.

"Good man," Reddington tells him, pats Ressler's knee briskly and stands from the chair. "I must be off. I have a pressing engagement," he tells Ressler, placing his fedora back on his head.

"It wouldn't have anything to do with finding that 'low life individual' that did this to her, would it?" Ressler asks. And part of him can't abide the thought of Reddington taking the law into his own hands. Yet the other part of him, the one that needs and loves Liz hopes like hell he finds that bastard quickly.

Reddington gives him an even look and sidesteps the question completely. "Look after our girl." He turns, takes a look at Liz, shakes his head and then exits the room.

Ressler watches him leave, silently wishing him luck in finding the piece of work who did this. In the darkened room he stands up from the recliner, stretches and moves to the head of the bed again. Liz had wanted to tell him something. Reddington had known what it was yet covered with something else. Ressler knows them both well enough to have seen that in them.

He doesn't know what it is - yet. But whatever it is, he's keeping his promise to her this time. He leans down and kisses her forehead as she sleeps, wishing it could be him in that hospital bed and not her. He pulls back from her, once again taking in the bruises on her face.

He's never told her. Never said it out loud. But he does now.

"I love you, Liz," he whispers then gently cups her cheek as she sleeps on.


	13. Welcome Home

_There was quite a bit in The Vehm with Liz back in the Post Office. And while we didn't get any one-on-one Keenler, what we got was them working together again after so long. No, she's no longer an agent, yet they were working a case again. It's different, yet we got to see something that we've waited weeks for - Liz sitting at her desk again. And in most of my chapters while she was on the run, I had Ressler longing to see her there again. So how could I pass up this opportunity?_

* * *

Samar's words echo in his ears as he turns, leaving her as she stalks over to Aram. _'You sucked in bed.'_ He shakes his head, dismissing her words as he turns the corner to his office. If he sucked in bed it's because...well, because she wasn't the object of his true desire. But he understands Samar is ticked off and just firing insults for the sake of it. They're in a difficult place. They're partners on the job - yet he doesn't trust her. She doesn't trust him and that's a dangerous place for two work partners to be in. For about the hundredth time, he reiterates to himself that she is not Liz.

Head down as he enters his office, he's still pondering the ways of Samar Navabi and still contemplating how the hell she's even back when he looks up. Liz enters their office through the door behind her desk. All thoughts of Navabi flee the scene as he lowers himself into his chair as Liz does the same at her desk. Technically it's no longer her desk or office. But as she pulls back her chair and sits in it, something she's done so often that she doesn't even think about it, he leans back in his chair and takes in the sight. How many times has he sat at his desk and seen that empty desk across from him? He's missed seeing her there. He'd seen her in here earlier today as they went over the case but he was leaning on the window ledge as she sat at the desk. Now they are in their assigned places and where they belong.

Almost on cue the same thought is in her mind as her hands rest on her desk, almost caressing the hard surface. Her eyes meet his. And normally not one to let her see his glances, this time he doesn't look away and instead holds onto her eyes. She is sitting across from him. All those days and nights of looking that way and seeing nothing but the closed door beyond her empty chair. And now she is sitting right there. No longer a fugitive. And while no longer an agent, something that is weighing heavier on his heart than he's allowed her to see, he drinks in the sight of her presence back in their office.

"I've…missed this, and..." she smiles, speaking words that are unnecessary. And she doesn't say it, but the _'I've also missed you'_   hangs in the air between them.

He answers her with his own smile, leaning back in his chair. He's missed it too. Even more than even he realized. She's no longer the same person who occupied that chair a few weeks ago; and not only physically, as he again ponders the fact she's blonde and no longer brunette. But she's still Liz and he voices his sentiments.

"Me too. Welcome home." It is equally as unnecessary yet still he voices it, cementing it so there is no doubt. She is where she belongs. In their office.

With him.

_What you're doing here is celebrating your birthday. With me._

"I wasn't sure I'd ever sit in here again. As a matter of fact, I wasn't even sure I'd survive these past few weeks. So many times I thought-" She stops, knowing she doesn't need to continue. While not with her on the run, he was well aware of what danger she was in.

"It's why I needed to bring you in when I did, Liz." He leans forward in his chair. "But you know that," he tells her with a little shrug and tilt of his head, both knowing how 'well' that had worked out.

"I do know. I know what you did." Again she stops, tilts her own head and as he watches the play of emotions over her face he wonders what else is going on behind those blue eyes. Hand running through her hair, she leans forward, opens her mouth to speak then stops again. She stands, moves toward his end of their office and he knows what she's doing.

It's something else he's missed. They've both missed. Her sitting on his desk as they talk in hushed tones. They rarely talk about work when she is sitting on his desk. And as she lowers herself to his desk, her hand leans on his desk and she's close to him. Instinctively he leans forward in his chair. Now she is truly where she belongs. Yet still there is something behind her eyes.

"What is it, Liz? You've been hiding something ever since you came back," he tells her softly. "You can tell me. Hell, you can tell me anything. You know that."

"I know," she says, quickly looking away and then back to him. "But I…I haven't wanted to hurt you."

He's not expecting that. Hurt him? What could she possibly have to say that would do that when she is finally back here with him? For a fleeting moment he's sure it's about his night with Samar, but then that would be him hurting her.

"What is it?"

Her eyes return to his and on the desk her hand gently finds his hand. He doesn't pull away, feeling the warmth of her smaller hand on his and holds her eyes.

"Ress… I'm pregnant."

He tries not to look shocked. Tries not to stare open mouthed. Tries very hard, and fails for a moment. They are both well aware of what happened on her birthday. Images dart through his mind. Of Audrey and his unborn child dying in his arms. An empty pregnancy test. Of lost opportunities and lost children. Of families that were taken away in a moment. He doesn't speak as she continues.

"And Tom, well, he wants us to remarry and move to Boston," she adds as her hand squeezes his. "But I don't…know…" she stops, almost willing him to say something.

Tom. His heart sinks. Her heart will always lie with Tom.

_What you know about her. What you feel about her._

In the end what he feels about her hasn't made any difference. She's having another man's baby. And it shouldn't hurt yet it does. She was right. She hadn't wanted to hurt him and the caress of her hand on his tells him that she is sorry she has.

He recovers as best he can, ignores the hammering in his chest and plants his mask firmly back in place. And to his credit he actually manages a pretty convincing small smile. "Are you happy?"

"I don't know," she answers, shaking her head a little and looking beyond him for a moment. "In another life, maybe, but look at the life I currently have."

A life with Tom Keen. A life of possibly moving to Boston and him never seeing her. A life without him in it. "Well, sounds like Tom is aware of that and wanting to get you away from some of it," he tells her, and all he can see is Tom Keen's face. The son of a bitch who has been the bane of his life since he met him. The man he tore strips off outside Cooper's house. The man who he fought side by side with in a small cabin with the Cabal closing in.

The man who can also see right through him.

' _What are you, her boyfriend?'_

' _I know you care… about Liz. You can act like you don't, but I know you do.'_

"Ress?"

He raises his eyes back to her, pushes his thoughts away and gives her another smile. A far more genuine one now. Because Tom Keen is right. He cares about her, and he's damn well going to support her through this. The irony doesn't escape him. The man who stopped him committing murder with Solomon is the one to tell him he cares. Though he doesn't need Tom Keen to tell him that.

In one movement he rises from his chair, slipping his hand out from under hers as her head rises to look up at him.

"I'm happy for you, Liz," he tells her. Because he is. Happy for HER, not Tom Keen. His arms find her and embrace her, holding her close to him. She's warm and soft as he leans into her as she remains seated on his desk. The hug is brief yet genuine. They are still at work, after all. And if Aram can hug everyone then he can damn well hug Liz at this news.

"Thank you," she says quietly and tears are behind her words. He hears them and isn't surprised to find her wiping her cheeks as he pulls back and holds her at arm's length, reluctant to let her go. Yet he must let her go, with the knowledge she is carrying Tom Keens child.

' _I thought by the time I was in my 30s, I'd have something to show for it. I thought I'd have a loving relationship with someone, maybe we would be raising a family together.'_

Her words, yet they had echoed his own heart. He should have been married to Audrey and raising their child together. And part of him retreats a little inside. She is now finding her dream while his remains buried.

"You'll be a great mom, Liz," he smiles, patting her arms before lowering his hands.

Wiping her tears, she smiles through them again. "Thank you," she shakes her head a little, "I hope so!"

With a concerted effort he squashes his own feelings. Gets out the virtual shovel and buries his own desires and wishes for a future that isn't happening even further down inside of him.

_What you feel about her._

He pushes it aside, determined to stomp on it to stop it rearing up inside him. It doesn't matter what he feels about her. Not anymore. "You'll do great," he smiles, still standing close and rubbing her arm.

"Thanks. And I will need to tell Cooper, and Aram and Samar of course," she adds, wiping the last of her tears away.

"Oh, of course. Gotta give Aram a reason for a hug," he teases, still standing by her as she rises from his desk.

"No time like the present," she says, as her hand finds his arm.

He meets her eyes. In another life he might have had something with her. It's gone now, and he's never going to let her see that loss in him. It's a promise he makes to himself.

"Would you… come with me while I tell them?" she asks him hesitantly.

She needs reassurance. He understands that. "Sure," he smiles. He's an expert at pushing his feelings aside and he's going to do this with her and for her.

"Okay then, let's do this," she says, as they both notice that Cooper has come down and is at Aram's desk with Samar. "Perfect time."

His hand briefly grazes her back as she steps past him. He'll have to be careful not to do that anymore. She's with another man and having his child. He swallows hard as she steps through their office door, hesitates a second and then follows her.

Aram looks up as they appear and as Liz walks to them, she smiles.

"I'm glad you're all here, as I have some news," she says and is greeted by three pairs of curious eyes.

"Is it good news? I hope it's good news. It's good news...right?" Aram asks her before Cooper and Samar both shush him. All three look to Liz with collective head tilts and raised eyebrows.

"Well, I hope it is." She waits a moment longer, and standing a half step behind her and to her left, Ressler can't take his eyes off Liz as she tells them.

"I'm pregnant, and-"

That's all she manages to get out before Coopers catch of breath, Samar's grin and "Whoa!" and Aram's arms engulf her in a hug.

Ressler takes it all in, instinctively taking a step back from them as they now flood her with questions and congratulations. The tears flow again, he notes and for a moment he aches to hold her and make this better for her. But he can't. The fact remains; the woman he loves is having a child with a man he can't abide.

He may be the expert at hiding his feelings to others, but he can't hide that from himself.


	14. And It Will Come

_So I really liked Lady Ambrosia, the more I watched it. And it's not for the case. It's seeing Liz with Ethan, and Ressler caring for and hand in hand with children. It was a beautiful thing. And it was obvious - so obvious - that they are showing us the contrast between Ressler saving children while Tom was terrorizing one. We have theories. We have hopes that the writers are laying this out in the way we want (Ress is the baby daddy) and my last two chapters have hinted at that. I so want to see Ressler happy with a child of his own._

* * *

As Ressler opens the door to his apartment, he reflects that it's been a hell of a day and one he hopes he doesn't have to repeat any time soon. He sees victims of crimes every day. Helpless individuals who call on the FBI, SWAT and the boys in blue. He's seen it all - especially since Raymond Reddington has been a part of his life. For better or worse - almost like a marriage, except there is no happy ending - the insane, corrupt and downright disturbing have come out of the woodwork in droves since the criminal has been involved with the task force. Wherever Reddington has been for the preceding two decades, he certainly has collected the oddest assortment of cohorts, enemies and associates. Yet through all of the cases and Blacklisters that have come down the pipeline, none have affected him more than when there is a child involved.

Like today.

A dozen or more children in the custody of one seriously deluded woman, hiding in plain sight under a canopy of butterflies and a hippie flower-child lack of fashion sense. As the task force swept in and freed the children, he was struck by how innocently they followed the gun wielding FBI team. Even in the midst of all of that seeming normality with a grandmotherly type, their instincts told them to go with the 'good guys'. The ones in black suits and body armor - with assault rifles strapped over their backs, lowered and not in use at his own order. Because those guys, himself included, were the rescuers. No matter how normal their lives may have seemed with Lady Ambrosia, they recognized it was wrong. They recognized that the good guys had come to save them.

And walking from the large home, hand in hand with them had felt right. It was fulfilling. In the back of his mind all he could hear was 'a man never stands as tall as when he stoops to help a child'. As his hands held their smaller ones it had touched him in a way that nothing had in quite some time, and had stirred something deep inside him that had been suppressed for far too long. Deliberately squashed at the sight of one empty pregnancy test box, the feeling had been rising to the surface for a couple of weeks.

And it doesn't take a genius to know what has brought it all to the fore at this particular time. And it's not just that this case involved children or that it's not easy to miss Liz's pregnant belly. It's that his own biological clock is telling him that window is getting smaller with each passing year in which to have his own child.

Tearing off his tie he tosses it to the coffee table as he walks past it to the kitchen, loosening the top button of his shirt. The cold beer is in his hand, cap off in moments. Leaning against the counter he sighs, swigs back another mouthful and can't stop his mind wandering back to their day.

To the one part that caused him more hurt than everything else combined. A father hugging his long lost child thought dead and now returned. Of a son unable to show emotion, yet still gravitating toward and allowing himself to be held in his fathers embrace. Of a bond so powerful, it spoke volumes without a word said between them. And all he could do was stand and watch, feeling the longing in his own heart for such an embrace from his own father that could never come again. For the longing to embrace his own child in such a way. And knowing both were out of reach.

And as he'd looked at Liz he knew she felt it too. Not in the same manner as a father and son, but as a mother and child. Yet why did she look at that bond with sadness? It was unmistakable, yet it was there. And after holding her eyes a few moments, he'd walked away rather than face that look. And had kept walking, past Aram and Samar, to the elevator and had left the building. And so, less than 30 minutes from the time Ethan and his father were reunited, he had walked into his apartment with a mind that wouldn't shut down.

A knock on his door startles him from his thoughts, and placing the half finished beer on the counter he makes his way to the front door. The peephole reveals the fedora before he even sees the face. Leaning back from the door he briefly considers not opening it, but then steps back and opens the door to Reddington.

"Donald, may I come in?"

He nods, stands back as Reddington enters and after checking to see if Dembe is coming in, then finding Red is alone, he closes the door and faces the criminal.

"I'd offer you a beer but something tells me that's not quite to your palette."

"On the contrary, I believe a beer could hit the spot right now," Red tells him with a sweep of his hand as he tosses his hat to the table by the door.

Ressler moves past him to the kitchen, finds a second beer, grabs his own half finished bottle and joins Red who is now sitting on the single chair in the living room. Unsure of what Red is doing here, he drops to his couch carefully, facing the criminal.

"I expect you're wondering what I'm doing here."

"The thought had crossed my mind." Ressler is about to add more when he meets Red's eyes, and then chooses silence as he lets the man speak.

"I never thanked you, Donald."

"For what?" Ressler asks, taking a sip of his beer while never taking his eyes off Reddington.

"I could go into detail about the wonderful time we had with you pursuing us those few weeks, just like old times, but I don't need to bore you with that. You were there. You know what went down," Red tells him, crossing his legs as he leans back, taking another swig of beer.

Ressler remains silent, just waiting for the inevitable jab. It doesn't come.

"Thank you for giving her the benefit of the doubt. For keeping her safe once you brought her in, despite what Peter and company sought to do. For staying by her side at the Court House."

Ressler shrugs. Reddington doesn't have to thank him for that. Or for anything to do with Liz.

"Donald, thank you for keeping your word."

"I told you I would," Ressler replies evenly.

"Yes, you did. And I took your word as gold, knowing you would keep it. I don't see that in many people I deal with. It's refreshing, and an honor to see it in you. A lot has happened these past few weeks. Things you held dear have been thrust open and the black core has been exposed. That's not easy for a man such as you to witness first hand."

Ressler feels almost uncomfortable under the criminal's steely gaze and resists the urge to drop his eyes.

"I don't want you to lose sight of who you are because of what you have seen with our friends in the Cabal," Red adds.

"I haven't."

"Good. Because this is just the beginning. When you stood up to Laurel Hitchin you painted a target on your back. The Cabal may have retreated to a corner to lick their collective wounds, but make no mistake, they will be back. The battle may be won but the war is far from over."

"I know. I all but threatened Laurel Hitchins and even though we have Solomon in custody, others will come."

"Exactly. I want you to be vigilant. Be aware of your surroundings and what is going on with those in power. Be ready, but don't lose sight of the law and keeping within its boundaries. Because that's what sets you and I apart, and I intend to keep it that way."

Ressler shakes his head a little and gives the man a small grin. "Right…you need me to be the boy scout."

Red's face lights up with an answering grin and tilt of his head. "Exactly, Donald. That's who I need you to remain." He pauses, takes another sip of his beer as he watches the agent, then continues. "Elizabeth told me that you're a good person. I don't need her to tell me that though. You're the good in all of us. The incorruptible one. The one with principals so unmoving they sometimes get in the way of what must be done, but no one can fault you for those morals. It is essential that recent events do not cloud your judgment of the system as a whole."

This time Ressler does drop his eyes, finding the hard surface of his coffee table where his tie still lays. "I'll keep that in mind," he tells Reddington, then leans forward on the couch taking in the unfamiliar sight of the criminal in his living room. "But that's not why you're really here, is it?"

Reddington's tone changes as his voice softens. "Oh, it's partly why. I have a feeling that the case today, while rewarding was somewhat painful for you."

Ressler nods, seeing no reason to hide that fact from Reddington. The man can read people like a book. He looks up at him. "The children told us 'a man in a hat with a nice black man' took Anya before we arrived. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" Ressler asks, knowing full well the criminal knows everything about that.

Reddington merely looks at Ressler, also fully aware he doesn't need to acknowledge that. But he does. "It was a favor for a friend. A wrong made right."

Ressler nods. "And I'm sure you were well compensated. But any time you can reunite a child with a parent, that's definitely the right thing." His beer finished, he places the empty bottle on the coffee table beside his tie and rises to his feet. Reddington is sitting in the chair that will forever be the chair Audrey's suitcase was in. And something else. An empty box that held something that he never found. But he didn't need to find it. His heart knew.

"Audrey was pregnant when she died." He doesn't need to tell Reddington, yet once again, doesn't see any reason now to hide that fact.

"Donald, I'm sorry. I truly am."

"Yeah," Ressler walks to the window and peers out at the setting sun. "Me too."

"And Elizabeth…" Reddington stops as Ressler sighs.

"Yeah. With damn Tom Keen." He can't hide his frustration at that one.

Reddington rises from his chair and steps toward Ressler at the window. The yellow glow from the sunset filters through the window, hitting the wall behind them.

"I'm worried about her. I've tried to talk to her, but I'm not the right one for this," he tells Ressler.

"Well, that's Tom's job. He's the one who…" _got her pregnant_. Ressler doesn't finish that thought. There are a lot of things Tom Keen is. And a lot of things he isn't. And father material is definitely on the 'not even close' list.

"Regardless, she still needs a friend. She still needs someone to talk to," Reddington pushes, and Ressler can't help but notice the step closer. "She needs you."

Ressler shakes his head. He can't, because as much as he longs to go talk to her, he doesn't, because that's Tom Keen's job. And it's not that he doesn't want to talk to Liz - it's that he wants to talk to her too much. And with her having another man's child, that's not a safe place to be in.

"Did I ever tell you about a woman I once loved who was married to another man?" Reddington asks him. "No, I didn't, because it's not something I share with a lot of people."

Ressler looks sideways at the man. He's really not in a story telling mood, but he doesn't stop him.

"I loved her from the moment I saw her. Yet I couldn't have her. Well, not technically. Obviously, there are ways. But there was a look in her eyes when she looked at me from inside her marriage. She was unable to hide the 'wanting yet not being able to grasp'. Donald, I've seen that look in you."

Ressler turns his gaze to the window. "I told you it doesn't matter what I feel." And he can't quite believe he's even having this discussion with Reddington.

"Oh, but it does. It does very much, Donald."

He doesn't answer. Simply shakes his head, wanting very much now for this conversation to end.

"A long time ago I told you that one day, Audrey's death would be the second thing you thought of. Tell me, honestly. Or if not to me, tell yourself honestly, Donald. What, or who, was the first thing you thought of when you woke this morning?"

Ressler's eyes betray him. Red knows who he thinks of. Who fills his heart.

Red's hand is on his arm. "Exactly. What I learned from loving a woman I thought I couldn't have was that some things are worth fighting for. Some things are worth the pain of waiting for. It's worth it, Donald. And it will come."

Ressler smiles. A soft, barely there smile at the criminals words. He never picked Reddington for a romantic.

"But I must be off. Dembe is waiting in the car. My parting words to you are these, my friend. Choose your steps carefully, but not too carefully. Be a friend. Be a sounding board. Be a shoulder for her. But be there."

"Tom is…"

"Tom isn't there tonight."

Ressler isn't even going to ask how Red knows that for a fact.

"There's an Italian bistro two blocks from Lizzie's apartment that has a wonderful take-out menu. If you call in a dinner now it will be ready in 30 minutes. I'll have Dembe text you the details."

"I don't think…"

"Donald, don't think. Do. She's pregnant. She needs to eat, and it is-" he looks at his watch in an exaggerated manner, "-dinner time. I suggest you call soon before they close."

Ressler shakes his head at the criminal's ability to manipulate others. But it's okay, because an Italian dinner for two is starting to sound rather appealing. Almost like Wing Yee at their desks on her birthday.

And he and Liz both know where that led. And judging by his words, Reddington does too.

###

Food in hand in a large white carry bag, he knocks on the door to Liz's apartment. Even before she opens the door, he hears a familiar sound. The scurrying of little dog paws and nails on the floor.

As Liz opens the door to him, she takes in the sight of him and then smells the food. "Oh, my gosh, how did you know? I'm starving and all I have here is…an empty box of waffles and a burnt roll of paper towels."

"Hey, I aim to please," he tells her, pushing past Hudson who is now more interested in the aroma coming from food boxes before he deposits the bag on her kitchen counter. The table behind him is covered in a bedspread and he eyes it curiously.

"Aaahh, yes, that's Ethan's little safe house. Have a look in there. Look under the table."

Ressler had already seen the photos she had taken, but does as she tells him. And leaning under the table and looking up, he's stunned at the detail. The photos in the war room were one thing, but seeing the butterflies drawn with such precision on the wooden underside of the table is breathtaking.

"Whoa…"

"Isn't it something?" she asks him, busying herself with laying out the food on two plates. "I swear, I'm never selling that table!"

He looks out from under the table and stands. She's grinning and it's the first time he's seen that in what feels like forever. Even since she's been back, he hasn't seen that look. But there it is. Her birthday smile and he answers it with his own as he moves to the counter top and the two plates of food.

"Thank you for this. This is so…thoughtful," she tells him, sitting on one of the bar stools. He sits beside her, and reaches into the white bag.

"So, obviously, you aren't drinking wine tonight, so I got you an everything-free, pregnant lady approved, non-alcoholic grape juice concoction that passes as fake wine. Will that do?"

She grins again, reaching for a glass as he pops the cork from the bottle. "It sounds perfect." She meets his eyes over her glass as she takes a sip. "Just perfect…"

He pours his own glass, tries not to grimace at the taste, or lack thereof, and looks at her a moment. He's missed her. Achingly so.

"I've missed you. All those weeks on the run, you were the one I missed most of all."

She doesn't say she missed Tom, he notes. And he almost goes back to telling himself 'it doesn't matter what I feel', when he hears Reddington's words. _'And it will come.'_

He lifts his glass of fake wine. "To missed friendship. To your baby. To you."

She tips his glass with hers, hesitates before taking a sip then adds "To us."

There is an 'us'. He knows that.

She's peering behind him at the bedspread covered table before they start to eat. "You know when I was a girl, Sam used to make little forts like that for me. He'd read to me in there. We'd eat our meals in there and I'd spend all day and sleep in it if I could. I loved that…"

Ressler is watching her, seeing the memories flash through her eyes. And in a moment of abandonment, he doesn't think twice and picks up his plate and glass. "Shall we?" he asks, motioning to the table, then steps to it and lowers himself under the bedspread so he's sitting on the floor inside Ethan's fort.

And she's grinning and laughing and crying all at the same time as she realizes what he's doing. "Oh, yes!" she smiles and joins him under the table as he holds her food for her.

They sit facing each other, legs crossed with food in front of them and he can't remember the last time he felt this good. Actually he can. And it involved sitting across from her with food that night too.

"You know, Red keeps telling me to try out this Bistro, but I have a feeling that going there and eating at their fancy tables wouldn't be half as nice as this," she tells him, taking another sip of her grape juice as she looks at him.

He agrees, wholeheartedly as he looks at her and raises his glass. "To friendship," he tells her as they start to eat.

He looks at her, fork poised and takes in the butterflies above them, the bedspread and the safe little fort. "You know, you don't have to wait until your baby is born before you read to him or her," he tells her.

And her eyes glisten. "Oh my gosh, you're right…and this is the perfect place under here too…"

He nods. It's absolutely the most perfect place right now.


	15. Twenty Nine Weeks

_Before I continue on, I just want to say this. The rest of my chapters in this years Conversations 3 concern the 'controversial' theories and observations that have had many of us jumped on in Tumblr. You know the arc I am referring to. So... if you are not on board with the Keenler baby theory, then you have been warned. That is what these next chapters contain. I held off uploading all of these chapters because I didn't want the backlash and hate that has been circulating on Tumblr. Crazy that a show can do this to us, right? So, from now till the end of this years chapters, they will all contain Keenler baby AND that Ress planned all of this. If you would rather not continue, then I respect that. If you read them only with the aim of posting negativity and hateful comments, I don't need that. Please, don't do that. It was hard enough for me to decide to post these. For those who asked me to, these are for you guys. Thanks! - Jeanette_

* * *

It's 2:15am and Ressler stands at his living room window, surveying the street scene below his apartment block. Yellow street lights illuminate the view, casting triangular shadows across footpaths. There is little traffic or activity out there, he notes, as he watches a lone pedestrian step into the convenience store on the corner. Beyond the glass of his apartment window very few sounds from the street reach him. As those around him sleep, the city is quiet, in stark contrast to the bustling daylight hours.

Sleep has yet to find him though. Images of hand drawn butterflies under a wooden table top and dinner in a child's fort replay through his mind. He had enjoyed it. Despite his reservations in approaching Liz and getting too close during this time, he had taken Reddington's advice and gone over there dinner in hand. Once again the criminal had made the right call.

The sight of her glistening eyes echoes through his mind. Her soft laughter fills his ears anew. He's missed that. Missed her. His head drops as he turns from the window, shutting out the city behind him. His empty apartment now greets his eyes, shrouded in semi darkness with no lights on. In a well-rehearsed routine he makes his way to his bedroom, grabs a blanket and returns to the couch. Sleeping in his bed has become difficult again. The bed is too big. Too empty. It's meant for two yet he alone occupies it. The couch has become his nighttime ally, offering soft comfort and a place in which to grab a few hours' sleep – and with only room for one.

As he settles back the blanket covers his legs as he lays his head on the pillow. It's almost too quiet. No voices. No muted laughter just beyond the walls of the adjoining apartments. He rarely hears his neighbors, but it's enough to know he is not by himself in the 4 story building. Rolling to his side, his eyes land on the single chair. Reddington had sat there just a few hours previously, and thanking him and offering 'fatherly' advice. Whatever history has thrown at them, they are forever joined at the hip. For better or worse. Definitely worse.

Inevitably his mind returns to the source of his inner conflict. No matter how hard he attempts to push it aside, (something he manages quite well during the day), at night it creeps in relentlessly. Her eyes. Her lips. Her hair. Her. Liz. The woman he loves is marrying and having the child of a man he cannot abide. His eyes close at the thought as he rolls onto his back again.

_It doesn't matter what I think._

_Oh, but it does._ Reddington's words echo in the room despite his resolve to silence them.

"Dammit."

The heels of his palms dig into his eyes, shutting out what little light is in the room. 'It doesn't matter what I think."

And telling himself that in his darkened apartment, he finally falls into a restless slumber on the couch made for one.

###

Something jolts him awake. Unsure of what it is he stares into the darkness, eyes adjusting to the outline of the window and the furniture around him.

_What…?_

There it is again, vibrating against the wooden coffee table beside the couch. His phone is ringing.

"Damn."

He's up in a shot, noting that it's 4:07am as he sees the caller ID and quickly answers. "Liz? What's wrong?"

Her words are quiet, yet he hears a tremble in them. "I…I'm not sure."

"Are you alright?" His heart is racing now.

"It's the baby. I think something is wrong."

He's on his feet, tossing the blanket aside and making his way to his bedroom as he replies. "I'm coming over. Do you need an ambulance? I'll call one for you."

"I don't think so. I just, I have some pain and went to the bathroom and there is some blood. It's not much, but Ress…" she hesitates, "I'm scared."

"Hold on, Liz. Hold on," he tells her, pulling on his jeans as he holds his phone in the crook of his neck. Leaning down he quickly throws on socks and boots, before grabbing the phone in his left hand again. "I'm coming. Don't hang up, okay?"

And it's as he's grabbing his keys and exiting his apartment that two things occur to him. One, he has no reservations this time about going to her apartment in a time of need. And two, that she has called him and not Tom Keen.

###

Arriving at her apartment it's all he can to stop himself running down the hallway to her door. Before he even knocks the door opens to him, revealing her worried features. Hand to her belly he immediately sees she's stooping slightly, alarming him.

"Liz, come on, let's get you to the ER," he tells her, instinctively reaching for her arm to guide her through her door.

"Hudson, stay here, boy," he tells the whining animal before closing the door.

"I'm sorry," she tells him, "I'm sure it's nothing, but-"

"Don't be sorry," he tells her, guiding her down the hallway and out of the building to his waiting car. "We'll get you checked out." Helping her in the passenger seat he notices her wince as she puts the seat belt across her belly. Part of him wants to tell her not to worry with the belt, but that old 'safety first' voice kicks in and he holds his piece before walking briskly to the driver's seat.

"Did you call…Tom?" he suddenly asks, glancing sideways at her as he pulls out onto the road. Now he is glad of the quieter streets as he heads in the direction of the hospital.

"I tried, but there was no answer…" she replies, and he sees the bite of her lower lip as she quickly looks away.

He nods, digesting that fact. He's not the one who should be doing this, yet there is no way on this earth he's not going to do it.

"I'm glad you're here. Thank you," she tells him, already knowing what he's thinking.

He nods, making his way across an intersection. The hospital isn't too far and within minutes the building comes into view. He's been here before. Far too many times, yet this time he's heading for the Labor and Delivery end of the hospital. That's something new.

The image of an empty pregnancy box held in his hands at Audrey's suitcase suddenly fills his mind. "Damn," he whispers.

"I'm sorry," she says, before he looks at her sharply.

"It's not you, it's…"

Her hand finds his right arm. "I know, Ress." And she does know, holding his eyes with hers for a moment.

Pulling into the covered entryway, he spies a couple of wheelchairs just inside the door. "Wait here," he tells her, throwing off his seatbelt and jogging to the doors that slide open to the brightly lit reception and admissions area.

A woman looks up from the desk, motioning to two white clad orderlies behind her, "We'll get her, sir."

He smiles to himself. He hasn't even told them what he needs, yet this is L&D. They're quite used to the sight of harried men coming through their entry doors.

"She's not in labor, but has had some pain and bleeding tonight so I thought it best to…" but they're only half listening and are already approaching his car, wheelchair pushed before them as Liz opens the door to them. Ressler is right behind them, hovering as they help her. Almost expecting to see a blood stain on the passenger seat, it's with relief he sees no such red mark on the leather. As soon as they have her in the chair, he returns to the driver's side and parks the car in the nearest parking space, then jogs back to Liz.

Catching up to them, Ressler walks beside her as they wheel her through the front doors and brightly lit interior. He wants to hold her hand. But she's marrying another man and having another man's child. His hands stay resolutely at his sides.

"I'm sorry I'm being such a bother," Liz tells the orderlies from the wheelchair as they wheel her past the receptionist and through double doors to the ER rooms.

The orderly, a pleasant looking man in his early 40s leans down to her. "I'll tell you a secret. It's been pretty quiet around here tonight, so your arrival just stopped Karen here from falling asleep into her coffee. You and your little one are very welcome and no bother at all."

Ressler smiles as he notices the words relieve Liz somewhat, and gives her a quick _'See, I told you so,'_ look as they arrive at an examination room. He stands back in the hallway, suddenly unsure of what good he is as the orderlies settle Liz on the examination bed in the room and hand her a gown. He waits, letting them get her situated, raising the bed to a half sitting position and placing a sheet over her lower body. As the nurse arrives Ressler follows her into the room and leans against the wall out of their way. His eyes find Liz's as she peers out from behind the nurse and he offers her his best reassuring smile. Truth is he's nervous. He's worried. If anything is wrong with Liz or the baby...

The nurse looks back toward Ressler and smiles. "It's okay dad, you can come on over. We don't bite very hard."

"Oh, I'm not-"

"It's okay." Liz's words interrupt his reply, smiling and holding out her hand to him. Who's comforting who here, he wonders. And stepping forward he positions himself on the other side from the nurse and takes her offered hand. He squeezes it; suddenly back in control at the feel of her warm hand.

"It will be okay, they'll take good care of you," he whispers.

"He's right, we will," the nurse smiles at her. "I'm going to get some fluids into you, so little poke here as I get this IV in…" Her words trail off as she concentrates, holding Liz's left hand.

Ressler feels her flinch as the nurse swiftly finds the vein. "It's okay," he repeats, leaning closer. Her eyes meet his from under her dark brown hair as she nods.

"I'm going to put this stretchy strap around your belly, okay hun? We'll be able to see how your little one is doing in there," the nurse explains, reaching under Liz to position the strap. Gel in hand, she places it on the sensor pad before laying it on Liz's stomach.

Ressler tries to be the gentleman and look away, but the truth is his eyes are drawn to her exposed baby bump. To the life that lives beneath the surface of her pale skin. She follows his gaze.

"I'm worried about the baby," she whispers, before looking toward the fetal monitor as the nurse attaches the leads. Immediately the sound fills the room. A whooshing, galloping heartbeat. Ressler stands straighter, still holding Liz's hand as the sound fills his ears.

_Oh, my God…_ It's the most amazing thing he's ever heard.

"Oh!" Liz whispers beside him, echoing his thoughts and he looks quickly at her. "Listen to the heartbeat! It's beautiful!" Her eyes are shining with tears and he swallows hard as he nods. She's right about that. And the heartbeat isn't the only thing that's beautiful.

"You got a feisty little one in there," the nurse smiles. "We're going to have the doctor check you and the baby so just sit tight here, hun."

Tears roll down Liz's cheeks as her eyes gaze at the monitor, watching and listening to her baby's heart. "Thank you," she nods to the nurse as she leaves. Liz looks up at him again and no words need to be said as that beautiful sound fills the room.

###

When the doctor enters the room a few minutes later, Ressler knows what type of exam he's going to be performing and leans close to Liz. "I'll be right outside, okay?" he whispers, straightening and taking a step away.

Her eyes hold his and her lower lip trembles slightly. "If you could stay… you know, in case there isn't good news…" she whispers. The worry in her eyes holds him and without question he takes her hand again and remains at her side.

"Of course," he says, and turns more to her as they drape her lower section and raise her legs in the stirrups. "I'm sure everything is fine, Liz… I mean, listen to that little guy or gals heart beat," he smiles, and is rewarded with her return smile.

"I can see where you've had the bleed here, Liz, and I'll take a quick look okay?" The doctor tells her from behind his mask.

Ressler holds her eyes, feeling her hand grip his as the doctor's exams her.

"Have you had any trauma? Anything hit your stomach today?" the doctor asks.

Her eyes widen as she looks to Ressler, then replies to the doctor. "Yes. I was, uh, shoved against a brick wall."

"What?" Ressler looks at her belly in horror then back to her.

"When I was protecting Ethan from Noah Shuster, before you got to the apartment."

Ressler grits his teeth at that, then hears the doctor answer.

"That's very likely what caused the bleed, but the good news is it has already stopped," the doctor informs them, before standing and pulling the ultrasound machine closer as the nurse takes Liz's legs from the stirrups. "Let's take a look at your placenta here, and your little one, of course, shall we?" he says, smiling at Liz and squeezing gel onto her rounded belly.

"Cold," she whispers to Ressler as the gel hits her belly and he smiles at her.

As the doctor moves the wand over Liz, checking the placenta he keeps her informed of his progress. "Looking good here… I don't see any sign of any hemorrhage indicating an abruption. And as we can hear, baby has a nice steady heartbeat so there is no distress."

"Oh, thank God!" Liz sighs, grinning up at Ressler as the doctor speaks again.

"The placenta is intact," he smiles. "So now I'll take some measurements as I get a good look at him or her."

Drawing himself away from Liz's smile, Ressler suddenly can't take his eyes off the monitor. The image is grey and grainy and difficult to distinguish anything, until the unmistakable view of a living, tiny person with a small button nose comes into view. And he or she is sucking their thumb, perfectly content in their solitary, watery confinement. "Wow…" he whispers, and hears Liz's whispered agreement.

"Oh, my…there you are sweetie…" she whispers in awe as fresh tears flow, then laughs, making a futile attempt to wipe her tears. "Ignore me, it's just those pregnancy hormones," she smiles as Ressler squeezes her hand.

"You're doing great," he assures her suddenly blinks back his own tears as his eyes return to the baby on the screen.

The doctor turns back to them, away from the screen. "You have a healthy 29 week baby in here. I can also tell you if it's a boy or girl, if you would like to know?"

Ressler is about to point out to the doctor that he's not the father when he hears the gasp and sees the dismay in Liz's eyes. Her grip almost cuts off the circulation in his hand.

_What the…?_

"Twenty nine?" Liz quickly exclaims. Her eyes widen as she grips Ressler's hand even harder. "That was my -"

"Birthday," he finishes for her as his heart leaps in his chest. Twenty nine weeks since she turned 31. Twenty nine weeks since they shared dinner and a bottle of wine in their office before taking things back to his apartment…to his bed meant for two.

_Oh, my God._

Her eyes bore into his. "Ress!" she hisses, reaching up to place her hand on the back of his neck, drawing him closer to her.

"Is this the first ultrasound you've had?" the doctor asks, glancing at them before returning to the screen, keeping the wand still on her belly.

"Yes!"

"Well, I assure you, your baby is two weeks further along than you thought," he tells her continuing his measurements. "You see the length of this bone here determines…"

Ressler no long hears the doctor as his words fade. His heart hammers in his chest and the sound of the baby's whooshing heartbeat mirrors the roaring of blood in his own ears. He can't take his eyes off Liz and leans even closer cupping his right hand to her face.

"Liz. Oh, my God!" he whispers.

And now his own tears flow and mingle with hers as his head drops to her cheek. And all he can feel is her wet cheek by his as they sob in dismay, joy and shock.

Liz is 29 weeks pregnant.

With his child.


	16. Insurmountable Odds

Ressler can barely remember the drive from the hospital to his apartment. Unable to part from Liz and take her back to her own empty apartment he had brought her back to his. There is a lot to discuss as they digest this news. Grabbing her a bottle of water and himself a much needed beer, they sit together on his couch. It's been 3 hours and he has to remind himself that he isn't still asleep on this very couch, dreaming that he's about to become a father. Dreaming that he's having a child with Liz.

But it is very real. A baby will be born in a few weeks with his DNA and blood coursing through its veins. If it will be a son or a daughter, that remains to be seen. Neither of them had asked to know through their tears at the hospital. But what they had immediately done was ask for a paternity test despite their knowing the truth. And it was revealed in the blood type for them both to see again. He was the father, no doubt about it.

"Wow," Liz says quietly beside him, leaning back and positioning his pillow behind her.

He slowly nods, having lost count of how many times they've whispered that in the past three hours. He smiles and looks to her again, then down at her rounded belly.

"Wow, indeed."

She smiles and leans into him. "While this is awesome, we just opened up a huge can of worms, didn't we?" she says, rubbing her belly gently.

He nods. That's putting it mildly. As the initial shock passes, a myriad of thoughts are invading his head. As wonderful as this is, how can he be a father to a child with his occupation when he's surrounded by death and violence every day in their fight with the Cabal. And who can ignore Raymond Reddington in their lives? To bring a child into that… And even beyond that, the most resounding thought of all is that the truth is, he can't have a child with Liz. Not with him a Fed and she a convicted felon. In the cruelest twist of fate, the family they have each yearned for is so close and yet there are insurmountable odds keeping it out of their reach.

Odds like sleeping with – and loving - the woman he'd been directed to bring in on murder charges. Could he be an accessory to murder charges, having let her go? Could he be stripped of his badge? Convicted of a crime? Where would his child fit into that scenario? And the Cabal is nowhere near done with the task force. Ever since Peter Kotsiopolas and crew were stationed there, the task force has been wary of being listened to via unseen but suspected listening devices in the building. And just for good measure, he had threatened Laurel Hitchin regarding the murder of Reven Wright. His words to Hitchin were true. This isn't over. Not by a long shot.

And of course, Liz is engaged to Tom Keen. Perhaps the most insurmountable obstacle of all. But it's the one he must face first. He knows how he feels. But this is Liz's decision.

She leans her head on his shoulder, places her hand on his thigh and nudges him. "Are you okay? Even for you, you're quiet," she smiles.

He chuckles, bringing his focus back to her. Is he okay? Does any of what he's feeling and contemplating count as being okay? "Yeah." He looks sideways to her. "Liz, we're bringing a child into a world…"

"A world full of danger-"

"That isn't exactly baby friendly," he finishes for her.

"What are we going to do?" she asks, her eyes pleading for answers that he doesn't have. "When I signed the agreement to become an informant, we both knew we couldn't..." she can't finish that sentence.

_We couldn't have a relationship_. The words don't need to be spoken out loud. They both know.

He places his hand on her belly. And it feels perfect. His child rests an inch or two below his palm. He's only known for 3 hours, yet something huge has shifted inside him. It's no longer him alone. A part of him is growing inside her, a tiny life who floats in there, sucking their thumb. And he is certain the baby is a girl. No test needs to tell him that. He feels it and knows his daughter is growing under his hand.

He inhales, and asks the question he doesn't want to. "I need to know who you want raising your…our child. I know that's unfair this soon, but is it going to be Tom, or me?"

And he hates that he needs to ask, but that needs to be determined before he goes any further. Because some part of him realizes that if it's Tom Keen she chooses, then that man is the only one who has the ability to take Liz away from all of this. Away from the Cabal. Away from the danger. Away from Raymond Reddington. To protect the tiny life inside her that carries his genes. Something that will be virtually impossible for him as a federal agent to do at this juncture in his life. He wouldn't blame her for wanting that.

Her hair falls softly around her face as she tilts her head to him. "Don't you know anything, Ress?" She suddenly laughs softly and leans close to him. "Are you really this blind?"

He remains silent, still holding his hand to her belly as she kisses him. He's not blind to how he feels about her as their lips meet. She draws back a little and gazes at him. "I love you. I have for a long time and now we're having a child together. You are the only one I want raising our child."

"I don't yet know how we do that, Liz. But I'll find a way. I promise." His arms encircle her, holding her to him as she buries her face into his neck. She's warm and soft and their child lies gently between their embrace. His mouth finds her ear as he tells her softly, "Liz…I love you."

And he's said it. Once spoken it can never be taken back. Nor would he ever wish to as he holds her and their child close.

###

When she comes back from the kitchen a little while later with two sandwiches in hand, she sits on the couch beside him again as he talks on the phone.

"Yeah, I'll be in later today. Just gotta take care of something here." He pauses, glancing at her as he listens. "Yes, sir. Everything is fine. I'll be there in a couple of hours." Liz knows who he's talking to and stays silent beside him. "Are you sure? Okay, let me know if anything comes up. If not I'll be there in the morning." He hangs up on Cooper and places his phone back on the coffee table, leaning forward to a legal pad he's been writing on.

"He gave you the day off? Wow. Chalk that up to another first," Liz smiles, handing him a sandwich.

He takes a bite, then looks to her. "I'm supposed to be taking care of you, not you feeding me," he tells her as she leans forward to look at what he's writing on the sheet of paper.

Her laughter stops him short as she sees what he's doing. "Oh my gosh, seriously?"

"What? You don't think writing down all the Pros and Cons in a list is helpful?" he asks her, suddenly looking at the paper and wondering why he has to analyze EVERYTHING as if it's a case. Perhaps he's been around Reddington's Blacklist too damn long.

She's still laughing, holding her hand to her mouth, "No, I think it's great!"

Judging by her laughter, he's no longer so sure but grins at her. "Right… Well, when you're done having a conniption here-"

At that she laughs even harder and folds into him. "Who even uses that word anymore?!"

He does, apparently. "Are you done?" he asks, smiling as she calms down, unable to believe that just a few hours ago he was sleeping alone and missing her on this very couch.

"Great minds think alike," she smiles and takes the pad and begins to read. He's watching her and sees the tear trickle down her cheek as she sobers. "It's almost the same as my list…" she says softly. And he should have known she had already done this herself.

She leans against him as they look at the paper together. "So, Reddington is at the top of the Con list, I see."

"Yeah. Let's face it, Liz, if he'd never given himself up you'd never be in the danger you're in. You'd never have been a wanted fugitive," he tells her, picking up the pen as more ideas come to mind. "And I'd never have had to hunt you down," he adds.

"But I'd never have met you."

Looking sideways at her, he chuckles ruefully. "Well I guess we can thank the bastard for that part."

She reads the Pro sides of the list noting that's it's identical to hers. The baby, the family they have wanted, a normal life. She looks back at the Con side of the page and taps her finger to the second name.

"And Tom is next on your list." She sighs and leans back. "Tom. I need…WE need to talk to him," she says, shaking her head.

"We need to figure out what we're going to say first, Liz." He looks away for a moment. "Because the feeling is mutual with how he and I feel about each other, so it ain't gonna be a good conversation."

She gives a rueful smile. "I know," then continues as something comes to mind. "Remember the day before you caught up with me?"

Ressler drops his gaze. He remembers. Clearly. He could have killed Tom Keen if Cooper hadn't intervened. He'd numbed his pain on that occasion not with pills, but by sleeping with the wrong woman. It's not a day he wishes to revisit. Not his most stellar moment. "Yes," he answers shortly.

She looks quickly at him as he turns away, resting her hand on his arm. "Ress, Samar is not what I'm referring to," she continues as he turns back to face her. "I was sitting in a restaurant and Tom and I met, as you well know, but there was something different in him. Something I'd not seen before."

He chooses his words carefully. "I don't know the man like you do, so perhaps it's possible, but from what I've seen a leopard doesn't change its spots, Liz."

She nods. "I know, but he said something that struck me at the time. He told me that I was going to have a normal life with kids and a family. He said 'you're going to have that. He never said "we" or that he would be a part of it. This is something Tom wants for me. And yes, I'm engaged to him. But I'm going to tell you something that you need to hear. Through everything that has happened, I'm settling for Tom. The fact I thought this was his child helped in that choice. But I'm not marrying the man I…" She falters and looks away as tears threaten. "…the man I love."

His hand finds her cheek as a tear spills over. "Liz…"

"Let me finish, okay?" She smiles at him through her tears. "I know that I'm a criminal. A traitor. A murderer. And if you're with me it poses so many problems for you. I'm aware of that, Ress. We both are. And marrying Tom was my way to just be done with it all and get away from all of this. It was selfish. Totally and utterly. And yet, I chose it because it's the only choice I have that didn't drag you down with me."

He watches her as she talks, understanding what she's saying, but she is wrong. "It may have been the only choice you HAD, Liz, but things have just changed. You don't have to settle. I'm not going to let that happen. You're carrying my child and I have some say in this now."

"Yes, you do have a say. I didn't know I was carrying your child, but now that we know, that's why I need to talk to Tom." She looks at her belly and back up at him as the tears break free. "And I'm going to tell him that I'm not marrying him."

She folds into him as her arms wrap around his waist. He holds her close, feeling her shaking as she cries against him. His eyes close as he hugs her.

No matter what she has just described herself as, she is and always will be his rock. His solid ground. His closest friend, former partner and secret lover. She fills his heart as it beats hard in his chest. And the memories come forth. Of ROMEO and shared desperation through bloodied glass. Of arms around her on a wooded pathway, holding her as she crumbled in a moment that opened his heart for the first time in two years. Of secrets shared and lies given to superiors. Of stark, raw vulnerability in a snow filled landscape as his heart tore in two. Of letting go at the touch of her in an ambulance suffering the pain of withdrawal. She was there through it all at his side. She knows him. He knows her. And he's not going to leave her alone in this. Not anymore. The child between them has changed both of their lives.

His mouth moves to her ear again, nuzzles it and he speaks the words that fill his heart.

"Marry me."

Her eyes spring to him as she moves back, hearing the words as she searches his face for any hint of hesitation. Any hint of reservation. She finds none. He's honest to a fault with so many layers that most people never peel them back. But with each layer shed, the more she's seen of his inner self. Where the hurt, addiction and broken dreams fight within him. Where his broken heart, deep yearnings and torment reside. Where the part of him that strives to reach further and to give more of himself dwells. Hidden below his solemn outer core lies his heart of gold. He is her best friend, her occasional lover and always her moral compass. He is her beautiful, tortured boy scout. The father of her child. The man she loves.

"Marry me," he repeats, searching her eyes as her tears fall, and still he holds her gaze, caressing her cheek with his hand. Searching. Waiting. Breath held for that moment in time. Because he needs her. Loves her and can't do any of it without her. He will find a way to make this work. He has promised her that.

The smile begins slowly on her lips. Despite the problems being a couple will bring there is no denying he brings her happiness. Gives her hope for a future without as much hurt, and with infinitely more love and joy. He is her past, present and future. He is her dream come true. Her fantasy fulfilled.

Her fingers reach for his cheek and brush away his own tears he didn't even know were falling. Their tears speak of unchecked emotion and a promise to find a way. And as her eyes shine her answer is given.

"Yes."


	17. Man on a Mission

As the alarm clock blares, Ressler lays there for a few seconds before everything comes rushing back in. With a flick of his head, he sees it wasn't a dream. Liz is also waking up beside him in his bed.

"Oh, it can't be morning already," she groans, "Oh well, I need to pee anyway," she groans, hauling her pregnant bellied self out of bed.

Watching her make her way to his bathroom he takes in the sight of her dressed only in one of his t-shirts. Every time she has stayed over it's always been the same, and deep down he loves that she foregoes the nightgowns and prefers his clothing.

"You alright?" he asks her, still concerned that she had bled some the day before.

"If you ask me that one more time, I swear-" she calls out as the toilet flush drowns out just what she swears.

He shrugs, knowing she can't see him. "You can shower first," he calls out to her, "and I'll go make us some coffee." He grins as he sits on the edge of the bed. "You know, that strong, manly stuff for me and flavorless, baby-safe decaf for you." Laughing at her tossed insult, he heads for the kitchen.

With her having spent the night at his apartment, his couch had been abandoned for the bedroom. And in the small hours of the night they talked and hugged and felt their baby move between their embrace. He didn't want the night to end. The first kick under his hand from his child had been something that even now he can still imagine against his palm. A soft echo of a tiny foot imprinted on his hand, and on his heart.

He's sipping on his coffee as he hears the water on the shower turn off. Grabbing her coffee he walks through his living room back to the bedroom just as she's emerging from the bathroom, toweling her wayward hair.

She takes the cup and sips it. "Thank you, I needed that. No caffeine and all," she smiles, meeting his eyes over her cup and holding his gaze. "I've missed this…"

He nods. He has too. Her birthday had changed everything between them. They'd had less than two weeks, and then it was over when she had shot Connolly. He's not going to let his thoughts linger there though. Not with her standing before him with his child in her belly.

Finishing his coffee he reaches over to kiss her and she laughs him off. "Coffee breath!" she grins and he takes the hint, going to shower and brush his teeth.

As he takes his own shower she comes in to sit on the closed toilet seat beside him. She's silent as he showers, knowing the water in his ears makes conversation virtually impossible. But he can see her - and their child - sitting close by him through the mottled glass.

And he can't even begin to fathom the depth of joy that brings his heart.

###

Dropping her off at her apartment so that she could head into the Post Office in her own vehicle, Ressler has mixed emotions as he drives away. He should be with her. He needs to be with her. Yet he can't be seen in a relationship with her. The drive to the Post Office is a blur, his mind elsewhere. Stepping out of the yellow elevator he is greeted by his colleagues, yet he scarcely pays them any attention as he makes his way to his desk. Yesterdays shock and wonder has given way to determined resolve to protect the tiny human now depending on him. He failed Audrey because he lost perspective and made it all about the job. But not this time. He will save his wife and child. Though he may not have put a ring on her finger and made it official, Liz has become his wife.

He is now a man on a mission.

And the mission's goal is clear. Not only must their relationship be hidden from those who would use it for harm, but he must protect her and the baby. They cannot even speak of the baby or how they feel at their place of work. With the Post Office being bugged by the Cabal, tiny listening devices near Aram's desk have been feeding their words elsewhere. But the opportunity to feed misinformation couldn't be easily overlooked, and the bugs were left in place. Code words have been set in place to hide who or what they may be referring to. They never openly mention Laurel Hitchin, but it doesn't mean they have not discussed her at the Post Office.

Feeling more like Jason Bourne than Donald Ressler, his mindset has altered. It's now a covert operation. Protect them at all costs is now his primary task. Hide his family from the Cabal and danger. And if that means he has to take them away from everyone and everything that has hurt her and can continue to bring harm, he will do it.

Liz's apartment is also watched by Reddington's man across the hall. And while Ressler is positive Reddington would never intentionally harm Liz, the criminal's very presence will continue to do so. And he's fully aware Reddington suspects or knows his true feelings for Liz. But in order to protect Liz and the baby, they must keep this even from Red. In what may be the boldest move in his plan, keeping Reddington in the dark is also the most dangerous. But if the hint of plan forming in his mind goes into play, then he needs Reddington to sell it to the Cabal. And the only way Red can do that is to be in the dark.

Aram interrupts his thoughts as he pokes his head in the door of his office to tell him Liz has arrived and they're about to start. With game face squarely in place as he attends the briefing, his thoughts are divided. A man has been murdered in his home, which in itself is hardly Task Force worthy. The photo of the staged crime scene and the reveal from Reddington that they are after a man called Drexel makes it a Blacklister. As he listens to the briefing, his eyes slide to Liz time and again. Nothing new in that but today is different. He wants to hold her close. Hug her and the baby and just walk away for destinations unknown. Leave it all behind and never look back. But he must do it right. Going by the book, certainly, but he's fully aware he is going to have to step into the grey.

Yet how does he keep her safe from the Cabal and Reddington when he cannot be seen to be having a relationship with her? When he can't even stop and talk to her in the Post Office and talk to her about their baby, or openly share it with their team. And that thought is what is occupying his mind as the briefing winds down and Cooper sends him off to survey the crime scene. And with a last glance at Liz who is equally aware they cannot be open about this at the Post Office, he turns and strides back toward the elevator.

###

Nine hours later, Ressler stands in Aaron Mulgrew's storage locker surrounded by surveillance equipment, webcams, listening devices, laptops and computers all with NSA mega rodent spy ware on board.

"What is all this?" Samar says, shining her flashlight above her and around the shelves of the storage locker.

"The future," Ressler tells her, likewise shining his small flashlight across the shelves filled with equipment. "Hidden access to anyone and anybody." Exactly what he needs right now.

"It's a reality show on steroids," she agrees, lifting up a tarp on the floor. "More computers under here and several huge external hard drives." She leans down and shines her flashlight closer. "And I have no idea what these things are."

Ressler peers in her direction at what she's looking at. "We need Aram in here."

"I'll call him. This is the stuff his wet dreams are made of," she smiles, exiting the storage locker into the late afternoon sun.

Ressler doesn't reply as his conversation with Adelson in front of the wall of live feeds replays in his head. _'This is what people want - access. You want to spy on a sorority girl? Maybe you want to know what your local politician likes to do at home.'_ Ressler has no desire to spy on a sorority girl or politician. But he does need hidden access to someone. If he can't be with Liz in person, this equipment can give him contact with her. And for that he needs Aram.

"He's on his way. I don't think I've ever heard him so excited," Samar chuckles as she comes back in.

"Set up a couple of SWAT guys outside. I don't want anyone getting in here and commandeering something they're not supposed to," he tells her. No one ELSE, at least. As he walks slowly around the storage locker, his flashlight beam falls on listening devices in all shapes and sizes, allowing unseen ears to hide in plain sight. Another shelf is adorned with tiny cameras hidden in buttons, pens and lapel pins. It's a one-stop-shop for James Bond or Dick Tracy.

And a gold mine for him.

He waits impatiently for Aram, standing outside the storage unit as the sun lowers. His desire is to call Liz and just talk to her and make sure she's feeling okay. But he can't and his phone sits silently in his pocket.

"Are you okay?" Samar asks him.

He's so preoccupied that while he most definitely recalls the last time she asked him that, he barely glances at her. It's just as Liz had told him. An emotionally charged (not-so-smart) decision made in the past between two consenting adults. "Yeah," he replies.

"Because you've seemed a little out of it today," she adds, turning to him.

He's engaged to Liz and she's having his child. Of course his mind has been elsewhere. "Just one of those days," he tells her, but she's not buying it.

"One of what days? Are you having problems?" Samar knows he took the day off yesterday. "Is Liz okay?"

He stares at her as the smile creeps over her features.

"I'm a woman. You can't hide it even though you two don't openly speak to each other at work. I've seen the looks, even while she's been engaged to Tom." Her voice lowers as she steps up beside him. "But your secret is safe with me," she whispers to him, leaning closer. "Just be careful."

Understatement. If he'd been careful Liz wouldn't be pregnant. But there is no way that Samar knows the full extent of his secret, despite her willingness to be a team player. He's saved from further conversation as Aram finally arrives, pulling up and parking near the SWAT vehicle. Ressler is right there waiting as he steps out, hoisting his laptop satchel over his shoulder. Instead of steering him toward the storage locker and its spy contents, Ressler walks him away from the SWAT guys, Samar's questions and the myriad of devices inside the locker.

Aram's dark eyes glance to Samar and the storage locker then back to the agent beside him, "Um, Agent Ressler…is everything okay? I thought you needed me to-"

"That's exactly what I need from you," He pauses. In order to do what he needs to keep Liz and the baby safe, he's going to need help. And each person he asks to help must also keep it quiet. It's a tall order to ask of any of them, but even harder to ask it of himself.

"Aram, I need your help."

"Of course," Aram replies, ever the willing participant. Willing even when he doesn't know what it is. Only that Agent Ressler has asked.

"I need you to sift through the equipment in this locker, and have you work out everything I'm going to need."

Aram's confused eyes meet his. "Need for what?"

He inhales, turns to Aram, and then steps off the straight and narrow path and into the rabbit hole. "I need hidden access between Liz and I," he tells Aram, feeling worse by the second that he's putting the man in this position.

"Oh." He looks up, eyes widening. "Oh!"

"We both need access to each other. We want this," Ressler clarifies, seeing realization dawning in Arams eyes.

"Oh, yes! But what about, um, Tom?"

Exactly what Ressler needs to address next, but one thing at a time. "You leave that to me. Can you do this, Aram?"

Aram glances to Samar who is watching both men with curiosity, then back to Ressler again. "To be clear, you want me to set aside everything you're going to need before I inventory the locker, correct?"

And Ressler can't even answer that. That's exactly what he needs. Let's just add white collar criminal to his resume and throw the cuffs on now.

Aram visibly straightens and meets Ressler in the eye, placing his hand on Ressler's upper arm. "If it means I'll be helping Liz, and you too, of course. I can do this."

Ressler exhales, not realizing he's even been holding his breath. "Thank you."

"No problem. I'll have you looking like James Bond in no time with this rat," Aram nods, as they turn back to the storage locker, giving Ressler a confident smile.

"I prefer Jason Bourne, myself," Ressler replies as they walk back to Samar. "And rat?"

Aram barely hides his smile. "Ressler As Tom. RAT," he blurts out, and all Ressler can do is stare. But what the heck. It's probably the right acronym for how he's feeling.

As they enter the storage locker his emotions are mixed once again. He's putting a plan into play that will help his wife and child. But he's leaving the black and white behind and entering the grey in order to do it.

And the worst part is, that's not going to stop him.


	18. Eyes and Ears

As the alarm clock blares, Ressler lays there for a few seconds before everything comes rushing back in. With a flick of his head, he sees it wasn't a dream. Liz is also waking up beside him in his bed.

"Oh, it can't be morning already," she groans, "Oh well, I need to pee anyway," she groans, hauling her pregnant bellied self out of bed.

Watching her make her way to his bathroom he takes in the sight of her dressed only in one of his t-shirts. Every time she has stayed over it's always been the same, and deep down he loves that she foregoes the nightgowns and prefers his clothing.

"You alright?" he asks her, still concerned that she had bled some the day before.

"If you ask me that one more time, I swear-" she calls out as the toilet flush drowns out just what she swears.

He shrugs, knowing she can't see him. "You can shower first," he calls out to her, "and I'll go make us some coffee." He grins as he sits on the edge of the bed. "You know, that strong, manly stuff for me and flavorless, baby-safe decaf for you." Laughing at her tossed insult, he heads for the kitchen.

With her having spent the night at his apartment, his couch had been abandoned for the bedroom. And in the small hours of the night they talked and hugged and felt their baby move between their embrace. He didn't want the night to end. The first kick under his hand from his child had been something that even now he can still imagine against his palm. A soft echo of a tiny foot imprinted on his hand, and on his heart.

He's sipping on his coffee as he hears the water on the shower turn off. Grabbing her coffee he walks through his living room back to the bedroom just as she's emerging from the bathroom, toweling her wayward hair.

She takes the cup and sips it. "Thank you, I needed that. No caffeine and all," she smiles, meeting his eyes over her cup and holding his gaze. "I've missed this…"

He nods. He has too. Her birthday had changed everything between them. They'd had less than two weeks, and then it was over when she had shot Connolly. He's not going to let his thoughts linger there though. Not with her standing before him with his child in her belly.

Finishing his coffee he reaches over to kiss her and she laughs him off. "Coffee breath!" she grins and he takes the hint, going to shower and brush his teeth.

As he takes his own shower she comes in to sit on the closed toilet seat beside him. She's silent as he showers, knowing the water in his ears makes conversation virtually impossible. But he can see her - and their child - sitting close by him through the mottled glass.

And he can't even begin to fathom the depth of joy that brings his heart.

###

Dropping her off at her apartment so that she could head into the Post Office in her own vehicle, Ressler has mixed emotions as he drives away. He should be with her. He needs to be with her. Yet he can't be seen in a relationship with her. The drive to the Post Office is a blur, his mind elsewhere. Stepping out of the yellow elevator he is greeted by his colleagues, yet he scarcely pays them any attention as he makes his way to his desk. Yesterdays shock and wonder has given way to determined resolve to protect the tiny human now depending on him. He failed Audrey because he lost perspective and made it all about the job. But not this time. He will save his wife and child. Though he may not have put a ring on her finger and made it official, Liz has become his wife.

He is now a man on a mission.

And the mission's goal is clear. Not only must their relationship be hidden from those who would use it for harm, but he must protect her and the baby. They cannot even speak of the baby or how they feel at their place of work. With the Post Office being bugged by the Cabal, tiny listening devices near Aram's desk have been feeding their words elsewhere. But the opportunity to feed misinformation couldn't be easily overlooked, and the bugs were left in place. Code words have been set in place to hide who or what they may be referring to. They never openly mention Laurel Hitchin, but it doesn't mean they have not discussed her at the Post Office.

Feeling more like Jason Bourne than Donald Ressler, his mindset has altered. It's now a covert operation. Protect them at all costs is now his primary task. Hide his family from the Cabal and danger. And if that means he has to take them away from everyone and everything that has hurt her and can continue to bring harm, he will do it.

Liz's apartment is also watched by Reddington's man across the hall. And while Ressler is positive Reddington would never intentionally harm Liz, the criminal's very presence will continue to do so. And he's fully aware Reddington suspects or knows his true feelings for Liz. But in order to protect Liz and the baby, they must keep this even from Red. In what may be the boldest move in his plan, keeping Reddington in the dark is also the most dangerous. But if the hint of plan forming in his mind goes into play, then he needs Reddington to sell it to the Cabal. And the only way Red can do that is to be in the dark.

Aram interrupts his thoughts as he pokes his head in the door of his office to tell him Liz has arrived and they're about to start. With game face squarely in place as he attends the briefing, his thoughts are divided. A man has been murdered in his home, which in itself is hardly Task Force worthy. The photo of the staged crime scene and the reveal from Reddington that they are after a man called Drexel makes it a Blacklister. As he listens to the briefing, his eyes slide to Liz time and again. Nothing new in that but today is different. He wants to hold her close. Hug her and the baby and just walk away for destinations unknown. Leave it all behind and never look back. But he must do it right. Going by the book, certainly, but he's fully aware he is going to have to step into the grey.

Yet how does he keep her safe from the Cabal and Reddington when he cannot be seen to be having a relationship with her? When he can't even stop and talk to her in the Post Office and talk to her about their baby, or openly share it with their team. And that thought is what is occupying his mind as the briefing winds down and Cooper sends him off to survey the crime scene. And with a last glance at Liz who is equally aware they cannot be open about this at the Post Office, he turns and strides back toward the elevator.

###

Nine hours later, Ressler stands in Aaron Mulgrew's storage locker surrounded by surveillance equipment, webcams, listening devices, laptops and computers all with NSA mega rodent spy ware on board.

"What is all this?" Samar says, shining her flashlight above her and around the shelves of the storage locker.

"The future," Ressler tells her, likewise shining his small flashlight across the shelves filled with equipment. "Hidden access to anyone and anybody." Exactly what he needs right now.

"It's a reality show on steroids," she agrees, lifting up a tarp on the floor. "More computers under here and several huge external hard drives." She leans down and shines her flashlight closer. "And I have no idea what these things are."

Ressler peers in her direction at what she's looking at. "We need Aram in here."

"I'll call him. This is the stuff his wet dreams are made of," she smiles, exiting the storage locker into the late afternoon sun.

Ressler doesn't reply as his conversation with Adelson in front of the wall of live feeds replays in his head. _'This is what people want - access. You want to spy on a sorority girl? Maybe you want to know what your local politician likes to do at home.'_ Ressler has no desire to spy on a sorority girl or politician. But he does need hidden access to someone. If he can't be with Liz in person, this equipment can give him contact with her. And for that he needs Aram.

"He's on his way. I don't think I've ever heard him so excited," Samar chuckles as she comes back in.

"Set up a couple of SWAT guys outside. I don't want anyone getting in here and commandeering something they're not supposed to," he tells her. No one ELSE, at least. As he walks slowly around the storage locker, his flashlight beam falls on listening devices in all shapes and sizes, allowing unseen ears to hide in plain sight. Another shelf is adorned with tiny cameras hidden in buttons, pens and lapel pins. It's a one-stop-shop for James Bond or Dick Tracy.

And a gold mine for him.

He waits impatiently for Aram, standing outside the storage unit as the sun lowers. His desire is to call Liz and just talk to her and make sure she's feeling okay. But he can't and his phone sits silently in his pocket.

"Are you okay?" Samar asks him.

He's so preoccupied that while he most definitely recalls the last time she asked him that, he barely glances at her. It's just as Liz had told him. An emotionally charged (not-so-smart) decision made in the past between two consenting adults. "Yeah," he replies.

"Because you've seemed a little out of it today," she adds, turning to him.

He's engaged to Liz and she's having his child. Of course his mind has been elsewhere. "Just one of those days," he tells her, but she's not buying it.

"One of what days? Are you having problems?" Samar knows he took the day off yesterday. "Is Liz okay?"

He stares at her as the smile creeps over her features.

"I'm a woman. You can't hide it even though you two don't openly speak to each other at work. I've seen the looks, even while she's been engaged to Tom." Her voice lowers as she steps up beside him. "But your secret is safe with me," she whispers to him, leaning closer. "Just be careful."

Understatement. If he'd been careful Liz wouldn't be pregnant. But there is no way that Samar knows the full extent of his secret, despite her willingness to be a team player. He's saved from further conversation as Aram finally arrives, pulling up and parking near the SWAT vehicle. Ressler is right there waiting as he steps out, hoisting his laptop satchel over his shoulder. Instead of steering him toward the storage locker and its spy contents, Ressler walks him away from the SWAT guys, Samar's questions and the myriad of devices inside the locker.

Aram's dark eyes glance to Samar and the storage locker then back to the agent beside him, "Um, Agent Ressler…is everything okay? I thought you needed me to-"

"That's exactly what I need from you," He pauses. In order to do what he needs to keep Liz and the baby safe, he's going to need help. And each person he asks to help must also keep it quiet. It's a tall order to ask of any of them, but even harder to ask it of himself.

"Aram, I need your help."

"Of course," Aram replies, ever the willing participant. Willing even when he doesn't know what it is. Only that Agent Ressler has asked.

"I need you to sift through the equipment in this locker, and have you work out everything I'm going to need."

Aram's confused eyes meet his. "Need for what?"

He inhales, turns to Aram, and then steps off the straight and narrow path and into the rabbit hole. "I need hidden access between Liz and I," he tells Aram, feeling worse by the second that he's putting the man in this position.

"Oh." He looks up, eyes widening. "Oh!"

"We both need access to each other. We want this," Ressler clarifies, seeing realization dawning in Arams eyes.

"Oh, yes! But what about, um, Tom?"

Exactly what Ressler needs to address next, but one thing at a time. "You leave that to me. Can you do this, Aram?"

Aram glances to Samar who is watching both men with curiosity, then back to Ressler again. "To be clear, you want me to set aside everything you're going to need before I inventory the locker, correct?"

And Ressler can't even answer that. That's exactly what he needs. Let's just add white collar criminal to his resume and throw the cuffs on now.

Aram visibly straightens and meets Ressler in the eye, placing his hand on Ressler's upper arm. "If it means I'll be helping Liz, and you too, of course. I can do this."

Ressler exhales, not realizing he's even been holding his breath. "Thank you."

"No problem. I'll have you looking like James Bond in no time with this rat," Aram nods, as they turn back to the storage locker, giving Ressler a confident smile.

"I prefer Jason Bourne, myself," Ressler replies as they walk back to Samar. "And rat?"

Aram barely hides his smile. "Ressler As Tom. RAT," he blurts out, and all Ressler can do is stare. But what the heck. It's probably the right acronym for how he's feeling.

As they enter the storage locker his emotions are mixed once again. He's putting a plan into play that will help his wife and child. But he's leaving the black and white behind and entering the grey in order to do it.

And the worst part is, that's not going to stop him.


	19. Escape Plan

After a few weeks of putting their 'decoy husband' plan into play, Ressler is more than antsy. He's near Liz every day at work and yet he cannot acknowledge her. It was strange at first, speaking to her through another man who relays his words. Yet hearing Liz respond in real time and picturing her before him talking to him made it worthwhile. At times they have used the button camera on Jacob and he has seen Liz as she's talking to him. Aram had been in his element, connecting the system to an NSA secure laptop in Ressler's apartment, completely untraceable to anyone else.

But he cannot even talk to her in more than work related questions regarding briefings and Blacklisters. And while the listening bugs are in the war room and not in his office, they keep their distance, aware of eyes watching. Unable to go home with her, be with her, talk with her and share a bed, he must remain at arms length from his future wife. Which is far more difficult than he had imagined.

Aram, Samar and Cooper are now well aware of their situation. Discreetly, away from prying eyes and ears outside the Post Office he and Liz had met with all of them and explained what was going on. About the impending wedding, the need for secrecy and the escape plan. As much as he'd told Aram to never hug him like that again, still he had accepted Cooper's spontaneous group hug with him and Liz. In that one moment, with Cooper on board things felt … easier. And yet at the same time, harder. Now HE has become the one to put the team in an impossible situation. He's taking them all into the grey with him.

Of course, all had asked the obvious question – "How are you going to marry and be together at that point? How are you going to be able to hide it?" And his answer had been clear.

"I can't be a federal agent for much longer. But what we need to do is complex. It's risky. But it's less risky than leaving Liz vulnerable to whoever is coming for her. Because if not the Cabal, then someone will come now that word is out of her true identity. Katarina Rostova had enemies. And now Liz has inherited those, as has our child. We need to get Liz and the baby away from everyone who can harm her. Permanently."

With dawning understanding, they had all realized where the escape plan was heading.

"Where does Reddington fit into all of this?" Cooper had asked.

And again, the answer (on the surface at least) was simple. "He doesn't. No word of this must reach him. But…Dembe is on board with us." And he can't take any credit for that. Liz had done that part, going to see her friend and talking to him. The big, quiet man had agreed to play his part and keep it from his boss for the safety of Liz and their child. Ressler appreciates that more than Dembe will ever know.

As he and Liz had summarized what they planned to do, the shock of their colleagues had then become a unified front in which to make this happen for him and Liz.

And so it had begun in earnest. The task force concealing whom Liz was really marrying. Tom's name mentioned, yet all aware that Ressler is the father and intended groom. That Ressler is Tom. It's formed a tight bond between the team and that's something Ressler wasn't aware would happen or even that he needed.

His thoughts return to the present as they stands in his office after finishing up the Caretaker case. Liz's laughter rings out in the war room, "Oh, Tom wouldn't go for that song, Aram!" Ever their social planner, Aram is still compiling the wedding playlist. He'll have to ask Liz later what song she knows he wouldn't like.

He can't drag his eyes away as a still grinning Liz suddenly places her hand on her belly as her – their – baby kicks. He pauses, not sitting at his desk just yet as she reaches for Aram's hand and rests it on her swollen belly. The look on Aram's face as the baby kicks again is priceless, and watching through the window blind Ressler can't help but smile. Their baby has become the team's baby. And he's good with that.

Now he has to turn to phase two of the mission - how to get Liz to safety to enable them to marry and live together. Because as good a decoy as he is, Jacob has to step back and he himself take over when the time is right.

Today's case has solidified everything in his mind once and for all. While the situation was different, the result was the same - Rose had kidnapped herself with the help of her brother to be where she rightfully belonged.

Just as he's going to kidnap Liz.

And for that, he needs to talk to Jacob again. He's about to step so far into the grey he may not be able to find his way back. Drawing his eyes from Liz and trying to ignore the churning in the pit of his stomach, he turns and closes the door. His office is bug free and he's been talking to Liz through their com system (or RAT, because try as he might, that can never be unheard now) for weeks while sitting at his desk. And still looking at her as she laughs with Samar and Aram, Ressler turns his mic on then sits at his desk where a couple of files lay.

"Jacob," he says quietly. The mic system is so good he barely even needs to talk above a hushed tone. No one outside the door could hear and to anyone who happens to look in the window, he's just an agent working on case files at his desk.

"Here," comes the reply in his right ear, and once again Ressler is struck with how cooperative the man has been in this. That one major source of aggravation for the past three years is now his partner.

"Can you talk?"

"Yup, what do you need?" Jacob asks immediately.

What he needs is something that he should never have been put in a position to need. "I need an army," he tells him, exhales and then clarifies, "to crash a wedding."

"Whoa, you're really going there, huh?" Jacob replies, surprise in his voice but then getting down to business. "Well, I know a lot of people. But let's just say you might not like some of the people who show up."

Ressler is still watching Liz through their window. "As long as they can get the job done and not harm anyone. It must be clear. Absolutely clear that this is a kidnapping, not a killing. The wedding is the best cover for me to get her out of here."

"So we need a strike team to take her before the real bad guys take her," Jacob adds.

"That's the first part of it. Reddington will get wind of it and come and stop them, we know that. So we let him. By then he will insist she make her escape to one of his safe houses. It must look to Reddington that we've attempted to get her to safety. At that point we get her to Nik so he can deliver the baby." Ressler stops, taking in the thought of his baby entering the world. "Because I need my baby safe and out of harms way when this goes down."

"And hey, you'll have me to keep the baby safe. As her unofficial god father, you know?" Jacob offers.

"Official god father," Ressler replies, surprising himself with the ease with which he's said it. "And yes, I'll need you to stay with her after she's born while I take care of… of what I need to do."

"Her? You know you're having a girl?"

"No. I just feel it's a girl."

"Daddy's girl…" Jacob replies.

Ressler closes his eyes momentarily at that image. And daddy is gonna keep his little princess safe. He glances up at Liz again, and continues. "So once the baby is born, Nik knows what to do next and-"

"And?"

"The only way they will ever stop coming for her is if she no longer exists. Masha Rostova and Elizabeth Keen must die as a result of giving birth." And he's said it out loud. And at that his stomach lurches even more as he takes a deep breath.

Likewise Jacob exhales heavily on the other end of the com. "How are you going to make it look convincing enough that she's dead? You have a decoy for her too? Wait… you're not going to kill a woman to-"

"What?! No!" Ressler hisses, mindful to keep his voice down. "No. That's where Mr Kaplan comes in."

"Oh, yeah. Weird old cleaner lady," Jacob responds. "So you got Dembe, Nik and Kaplan on board. Man… you want me to get you an army, but you've already got one, Boy Scout."

"Yeah…"

Jacob continues, "Kaplan has some serious skills though. Used to be a Medical Examiner, I heard. Also used to be a man, but hey, I digress. She could mix up just the right drugs to make it look… to sell it."

"Yes. So get the church strike team. Maybe a dozen men. Be ready for when we get the day to go ahead on this," he replies, still watching Liz, aware that he looks nothing like an agent sitting at his desk doing his job when he can't take his eyes off his woman outside. He drags his eyes back to his computer screen and presses a couple of keys for good measure.

"What will be the deciding factor on when we go on this?" Jacob asks.

"We need to give the baby as long as possible in there before she's born. So the day we have incredible intel from our man on the inside that they're coming for Liz is when we go," he tells Jacob.

"Got it. It will be easier once you arrange for his release. So I'll make some calls," Jacob finishes. "I know what to do."

Ressler knows that because this is what Jacob does, while he's just a tourist as Reddington has so eloquently reminded him a time or two. But if Reddington could see him now... in some warped way, the criminal would be proud of him. Yet just as he'd told the kidnapper brother today, he doesn't like being put in a position where he has to do any of this. But the playing field has changed. Things that were so clear, so black and white are no longer. The Cabal and other enemies are within the very government he works for, while former enemies are now allies. The system his father fought and died for is still corrupt.

' _There's no justice in your justice system.'_

He rises from his chair, noticing that Liz is getting ready to head out. He grabs a file, doesn't even look at what it is and walks out toward Aram. He can still look like a diligent agent. Maybe a jaded and distracted one, but he can do it.

"So I'll see you guys tomorrow. Tom's bringing Italian take-out tonight," Liz smiles, making a step toward the elevator.

Ressler catches her eye. "Have a good evening," he tells her nonchalantly, yet he holds her eyes a little too long. Because he has a date with her tonight. Remotely, of course, and they won't be sitting under a wooden table fort this time, but he'll still get to talk to her as they eat their meal.

And after finishing up he heads out about thirty minutes behind Liz, stopping to say goodnight to Samar and Aram.

"You catching the game tonight, Agent Ressler?" Aram asks as he walks by.

"Nah, might grab a bite to eat and make an early night of it," he replies.

"Hah! Oh, you're such a bachelor," Samar grins. "You need a woman to show you how to spend an evening." Her eyes are laughing, and he knows she's doing the same as Aram - selling it to the listening ears.

"Well, I don't think there's much room for a woman in the line of work we do," he smiles, then bids them goodnight. And as he enters the elevator and waits as the doors close on the war room, he wonders just how many more times he will see that before he makes his own exit away from it all.

###

As it turns out, the day comes much quicker than planned. While talking with Liz early one morning, he hears Jacob's phone ring. He listens in as Jacob answers and Ressler hears the voice of their inside man. Matias Solomon is on the line.

"Tom, how are you and the little woman on this fine day?" Solomon asks in his precise, clipping tone.

Solomon believes he is talking to Tom Keen. "Just fine. What have you heard?" Ressler asks the man and listens as Jacob relays.

"The Russian is on the move. He is in play and coming for Masha Rostova."

Ressler's heart lurches at the words he has both hoped for and dreaded hearing. "Where is he now?" he asks. They do not know the man's name. Only that Solomon's group has intel on him.

"On the playing board is all we know. I suggest we dispense with the pleasantries for later in the day. I do have a wedding to attend, correct?"

And here it is. The moment he crosses over the line. "You have a go," Ressler tells him, ordering Solomon to attack the church. To kidnap Liz.

"Very good. Your strike team is ready and will breach the location to retrieve Tango at the given time. But first, I need to pay a visit to the nuclear facility to keep interested parties occupied."

"You know what to do," Ressler replies. In their need to keep Reddington occupied as long as possible the bomb threat is only a diversion. Everything must appear as if the task force is working a case today as much as possible.

"Indeed I do. Tom, always a pleasure." And with that, Solomon hangs up.

Ressler can't reply to Jacob for a moment as he sits down to control the shaking that has just erupted. He's become Raymond Reddington. Making deals with mercenaries and dancing with the devil. Only this devil doesn't know who is pulling the strings. Solomon has no idea an FBI Agent is really at the helm.

Matias Solomon had been hired by the Cabal to kill Masha Rostova.

And now Ressler, as Tom Keen, has hired him to save her.


	20. Shotgun Wedding

Ressler takes a moment to gather himself. His baby girl is coming. Today his baby will be born, and his wife will 'die'.

He refocuses, drops his half eaten breakfast in the trash and grabs his coat. He has a wedding - or more to the point, a coordinated attack - to organize. Liz is talking to him again, loud enough that Reddington's bugs hear it as they 'decide' to marry today.

"They had a cancelation at the church this afternoon. I say we go for it," she tells him, and he can hear the excitement in her voice. It's the day she will meet her baby. This is the start. It's an end, most certainly, but it's the start of the plan to escape.

It's complicated. He wonders how the hell it got this complicated. They have to do it today, he knows that. Because as soon as the baby comes Liz needs to leave. And he thought he would have had more time with her before then. He stops for a moment and stands in his kitchen as they talk. And as Tom, he plays his part for the bugs in her apartment.

"But are you absolutely sure about this?" he asks.

"Come on. It's me and you," she laughs. "We usually do like six impossible things before breakfast." He glances to his half uneaten breakfast now in the trash. She's right about that.

She can never get that right. "I love it when you misquote Lewis Carroll."

"I know. That's why I do it."

He grins, despite what today is going to bring. "I could kiss her right now," he tells Jacob, finally grabbing his keys and leaving the apartment.

And from her response, he understands Jacob has tried to comply. "Ah-ah! Wait until the wedding night!" she jokes.

But both of them know their wedding night may be a while yet. There is a lot of water that needs to go under the bridge between now and then. Once in his car, he turns off the mic to make some calls. The first is to Nik.

"Nik, it's Tom Keen." Nik knows full well who he's really talking to. "We're a go for today," he tells the doctor. The conversation is brief and to the point. "I don't have a location until Mr Kaplan lets us know on that. But you know more about that side of it than I," he tells him, pausing as Nik speaks. "Thanks. I'll call you again when I can break free. But be ready."

He hangs up, presses another number and has virtually the same conversation with Mr Kaplan. "I'll take care of her, dearie," she reassures him. He knows she will. He's putting his wife's life in her hands.

As he hangs up from that call, he waits for the next red light and as he stops at the intersection he looks down and quickly changes frequencies on his com system. "Dembe."

Accustomed to the usual wait while Dembe gets away from Reddington a moment, he soon hears the man's soft voice in his ear.

"I am here."

"Dembe, we are a go for today. Coordinate with Mr Kaplan and Nik and I will be there as soon as I can."

"Of course. I will take care of it."

Ever a man of few words, Ressler thanks Dembe then changes his frequency back to Jacob. "The team is notified. Get Liz to the Post Office, and you know the time at the church."

###

Ressler can barely keep his mind on the job at hand. His insides are crawling, knowing what's coming later in the afternoon. He's going through the motions of tracking down the bomb that Solomon is stealing and has Jacob tuning in the whole time in case he gets more word coming down the line. As if sensing his distraction, Liz suddenly turns to him while they stand near Aram's desk.

"We good?" she asks

They're more than good. They're about to be parents and husband and wife. He meets her eyes and answers her and those who are always listening. "Yeah. Fine. It's, uh, your big day." Big day indeed. She's becoming a mother and will end the day on the "lost in combat" list.

Liz is apparently much better at this than he is. She's making conversation while his insides are about to quietly explode. "This is about you and Tom. Look, I know the two of you have-"

"It's not about him and me," he tells her, his voice softening. "It's about him. I mean, he laid a hand on you. As far as I'm concerned, there's no coming back from that." He's playing for the listening devices, yet he believes that to be true.

In his ear, Jacob's voice comes in loud and clear. "You're 100% right. Totally unforgiveable." Ressler can't answer the man.

Aware of thier dual conversation, Liz continues. "I get where you're coming from, and I love you for saying it."

And the look in her eyes calms him immediately. It's hidden in plain sight, but she's just told him she loves him right in front of those who are listening in.

"But I kept him prisoner in the hull of a ship and tortured him for two months, so in my book we're even."

Jacob pipes up in his ear again. "Liz, Liz, Liz. That doesn't make anyone even. You cannot justify any of what we did to each other." And if he's telling Ressler what to say to her, Ressler isn't relaying it. That's not how the weirdest love triangle in history works.

Ressler smiles at her, steps back in acquiescence and replies. "Hey, I said my piece. If I can be there for you today, I will." And he's not talking about the wedding. Their baby is going to enter the world today, and he needs to be done chasing nukes in order to be there. Certainly not in person, but he's hoping like hell he can be via the cam and mic.

But first there is a wedding to destroy.

###

Hours later, after standing out in the rain on I-95 to discover an empty truck, just as he'd known it would be, Ressler is finally on his way to the church. As he drives, his earpiece relays Cooper officiating the ceremony. The man is stalling, talking about friendship and Ressler just needs to hear Reddington stop the ceremony.

"Come on, Red, come on," he mutters, aware Jacob can hear him. "He should be there any moment," he tells Jacob.

And driving, Ressler hears Cooper in his ear. "The sum of our choices are a weight that each individual carries alone. But as man and wife, as partners, you choose to shoulder that weight together. And all of us here today we celebrate the choice you've made."

If Reddington doesn't get there soon, Cooper is going to have to take a 4th quarter time-out to stop the ceremony. "Damn it, Reddington. Come on, come on." Ressler mutters.

And suddenly, the voice he's been waiting on. "Elizabeth, I'm sorry, but we need to go." Red's voice is in the distance, but there finally, the man has entered the church.

"Son of a bitch cut it fine!" he exclaims to Jacob, but the relief Ressler feels is immense - which makes no sense at all because he knows exactly what is coming next. And Liz is playing her part beautifully.

"What are you doing here?" he hears her ask Red.

"Men are coming for you. We need to leave now. Solomon never intended to take that weapon. He was contracted by an employer to take you." Red's voice is loud and clear now as he approaches Jacob's mic and the wedding party.

Reddington has no idea who contracted Solomon to do this. Nor does Solomon for that matter. And if Ressler has his way, neither man will ever know.

Dembe's voice is in the background "They're here."

Right on time. And as if in slow motion he hears the first shots fired. He's driving, concentrating on the traffic yet a well coordinated operation is taking place in his ear. The gunfire increases as breaking glass and flying debris shatters the air in the church loud and clear in his ear. The building is about to be shot to pieces around his wife and child and he has put this in motion. Momentary panic grips his heart. What the hell has he done?!

"Keep clear of the windows! Everybody, stay low!" Voices reach him, shouting, shots firing. "Aram, get these people out of here now! Stay down, stay down!" And more gunfire, breaking glass and a woman crying as Aram comforts her. While not heard, Ressler knows Solomon is demanding Masha Rostova come out.

"Damn, it. Damn it…" This should never have had to get this far. And through it all, his beautiful wife is still trying to find out information for him.

"It's her, isn't it? Solomon's employer. It's my mother. Who else would call me Masha Rostova?!" her voice reaches him as she tries to grill Reddington under fire.

"Lizzy, your mother is dead."

"Then who is it? Who? You owe me this," she asks the criminal, still seeking to find out information on the mystery man. The Russian.

Red is rattled, something that surprises Ressler as he listens. "I'll tell you what I know as soon as I know you're safe."

And there it is. Reddington is the next part of the equation to get Liz to safety. He will send Liz out of that church to a safe house while he holds off Solomon, and then Nik will take over. As the gunfire reaches a crescendo in his ear, as bullets ricochet around the small church, shattering wooden pews and windows, Ressler heads down the highway. It's the longest road in the world as he listens to gunfire raining down around his wife and child.

###

With tires squealing Ressler pulls up at the church, SWAT team in tow and leaps from his vehicle. The gunfire is concentrated at the back of the church, and approaching the shattered front doorway at a run, he's sees a gunman ahead of him. A single shot takes out the man from inside the church, and as the black suited gunman falls all he can see is Liz crouched beside the lectern. He can't take his eyes off her as her face lights up at the sight of him.

He nods to Tom. _Go! Get her out of this chaos!_

"Tom! Get her out of here!" Red calls out, just as Ressler had known he would, and as Jacob grabs her hand and helps her up, Ressler asks her through the com, "You ready for this?"

Her reply comes. "Yeah." He's not sure he is.

And he loves her even more as he clears a path for her as Jacob runs with her down the aisle. Firing, he descends the steps, making the way safe for her exit, standing guard as Jacob seats her in the car. And he'd give anything to be the one in the drivers seat with her, driving her there himself. But he still has a job to do to make this all happen.

He watches the old wedding car as Jacob speeds off and police sirens cut through the air as the vehicles storm the church, red and blue lights flashing. And he can't be positive, but he's pretty sure Liz turns in the passenger seat as he watches her disappear from view. He hangs on to that glimpse of her. Because it's probably the last time he will set eyes on her for a while.

"I love you my beautiful wife. I'll be there when I can."

"I'll be waiting for you. I love you, husband," comes her reply.


	21. Beginning and End

Ressler isn't sure how much longer he can do this. He's holding it together but the thought of what they still have to go through will bring him to his knees if he thinks too long and hard on it. But the alternative… There is where he cannot go. He must take Liz away forever from those who are coming for her.

The feed in his ear has been coming in all afternoon from Jacob and Liz and as soon as he and Samar are done at the ruins of the wedding chapel he runs to the SUV. Samar is right behind him.

"Keys," she demands, holding out her hand.

"I don't have time for-"

"You don't have time for a car wreck on the way. Give me the keys." She's standing toe to toe with him, and one look in her eyes tells him she's done taking shit from people today.

Depositing the keys in her outstretched hand he turns and jumps in the passenger seat. She's right. He can't concentrate right now and he'll end up wrapping them around a light pole. He grabs his phone and dials a number as Samar squeals out of the parking lot and onto the street. Unasked for, she has put the red and blue lights that flash above him as Mr Kaplan answers."

"Yes, we've got her, dearie. Nik is here. He's in," she informs him briskly before the line goes dead.

Time is rushing by. His baby is about to be born and he's not in position. "Damn it. "Come on, come on."

Samar flashes him a look, is about to say something then thinks better of it.

The feed is still coming in, and fully aware Samar knows who he's really conversing with, he talks to Jacob again. He appreciates that Samar isn't speaking, knowing he'll completely bite her head off if she interrupts him now.

"Jacob, how's she doing?"

He hears the whisper, "She's in pain."

"Shit. Let me talk to Nik. NOW." And he knows he's being unreasonable. Everyone is stressed. But not everyone is the father.

"Why is she in so much pain?" he asks Nik as Jacob leans down to the doctor.

"Her baby's not receiving enough oxygen. It's fighting to stay alive inside her womb."

Ressler licks his bottom lip as Nik fires off orders for more morphine. With a screech of tires, Samar squeals into the parking lot of the Post Office. And before she's even cut the engine he's out the car and running. He doesn't wait for Samar as he sprints to the surveillance van parked nearby, yelling into his FBI earpiece now.

"Aram, I'm here! Is the feed coming through?"

"Agent Ressler, thank God! Yes, they're already starting!" he exclaims as Ressler rushes through the door to sit breathlessly at the main surveillance console inside the van. And trying to catch his breath as Aram cleans up the feed, he sees Liz as Jacob moves in front of her. She's sitting up, pillow clutched to her middle and she's scared. His wife is afraid and in pain.

"I'm right here. It's fine," he pauses, still breathing heavy and unable to drag his eyes off the fear in Liz's eyes. He needs to calm her. No mean feat when his own heart is about to jump out his chest.

"We're having a baby. Yay," he adds.

He's sees the moment she realizes he's made it. That he's here watching and with her.

"Ohh! I love you," she pants. Unable to see him, she knows he is watching.

"You're gonna do great," he reassures, watching the picture move, even though Jacob is trying very hard to keep himself and the hidden camera in his lapel still.

She's talking to him again. "This just isn't how I pictured the birth of our baby."

It's definitely not how he pictured it. But then he's only had a few weeks to adapt to this entire notion. "How'd you picture it?" he asks, feeling his heartbeat steadying. Now that he's made it in time he can concentrate on her.

"Magical."

Beside him, Arams speaks up. "Um, mirror ball. Music?" he suggests and Ressler slides his eyes sideways to the man.

"Okay, hold on," he tells Liz.

"Jacob. Music, and… the mirror ball."

Liz disappears from view as Jacob makes his way to the DJ console. Flipping quickly through records, Aram calls out, "There! Perfect," he says, smiling at Ressler at the record label in view.

"You're kidding me right?" he asks Aram.

"Jacob, put it on. Let's make it magical for her."

As Paul Anka fills the air and Jacob walks quickly back to Liz, Aram allows himself a satisfied smile. "Okay, my job is done. I'll, uh, leave you to it," he tells Ressler. Taking a last look at the screen he takes off his headphones and as unobtrusively as he can, exits the van.

Ressler is now alone in the van, with just his wife and unborn child before him. And suddenly he can no longer find the words as he watches Liz on the monitor before him. All he can whisper is "Jacob, hold her hand for me," and sees Liz look up at the camera. Her eyes are sleepy with the morphine, yet they're a beautiful deep blue looking only at him. He leans forward, hearing Nik through Jacob's mic asking if she's had her appendix out. He knows the scar Nik is referring to. Intimately.

"Uterine incision is complete." Ressler hears Nik off camera clearly. Almost there. Any moment now…

"You ready to meet your baby, Liz?" Nik asks her now as Liz turns from the camera to look up toward Nik.

"Definitely." Ressler shares her sentiment as Jacob moves slightly to enable a better camera angle.

Before him is Liz's belly and a nurse waiting, blue cloth in hand. Nik opens the incision more, reaching down with his hand. Ressler's heart is in his mouth. And holding his breath he leans toward the screen. Tiny bloodied feet appear, grasped firmly in a blue gloved hand.

His baby's feet. The first view of his child. His flesh and blood.

And as if in slow motion, with a firm but gentle movement, Nik pulls the baby from Liz and holds it as the nurse swiftly places the blue cloth under it. A tiny pink, red headed bundle, wet and covered in some blood. His baby has entered the world. His child is a ginger, just like him. Unbidden, his fingers reach out and touch the screen, outlining the tiny child on the screen.

The baby's head is away from him, now, yet he or she is beautiful. Soft and pink and tiny.

And quiet.

"Why is the baby so quiet?" he asks Nik as the nurse confirms the baby is not breathing. His child isn't breathing.

"What's happening?" No reply. "Nik?"

Jacob has turned again and in horror Ressler watches as Nik works on the baby. "Nik, tell us what's wrong," he asks again.

His fingers on the screen form a fist. He leans forward, face almost to the screen, hearing Nik and the nurse in his ears. "Is everything okay?" he demands. But everything is not okay. Damn it! He should be there with Liz!

The baby's cries fill the air. A strong wail, piercing the air of the surgical unit. Ressler's forehead drops to the screen. His baby is crying.

Ressler exhales, letting his held breath go. And his baby is not the only one crying, as tears of relief and stream down his cheeks. His baby is breathing.

"Sometimes they just need a reminder it's time to breathe," Nik informs them as the nurse cleans and wraps the child.

He leans back a little, holds his hands to his cheeks to wipe his tears and can't drag his eyes from the tiny human being wrapped in a hospital cloth. His child.

"Congratulations. You have a healthy, beautiful baby girl."

A girl. His world will turn pink with her in it. Will become soft and gentle filled with toy ponies and fairy wands and butterfly kisses. In one moment, he and Liz have gone beyond lovers, beyond husband and wife and become a family.

The camera is turning again as the nurse hands their child to Liz. He sees the tiny face of his baby girl for the first time as tears swim in his eyes. Her precious tiny button nose, mouth and dark eyes shaded blue. Her ginger hair now under her hat, she lays in Liz's arms. He wants to reach out and touch here. The glass is cold and hard beneath his finger tips, belying the soft baby skin he yearns to feel. She's beautiful. She's his.

A soft knock comes on the door of the surveillance van and as he peers in that direction a nervous Aram is there with Samar beside him.

"May we…?"

He motions to them to enter, wipes his cheeks again and moves his chair over a little so there is room for Samar to squeeze behind him.

"Aaaww…my…" Aram whispers as the baby fills the screen. "Boy or"-

"Girl," Ressler whispers past the lump in his throat. "I have a baby girl," he tells them, turning back to the screen again to look on his little princess.

"She's beautiful!" Samar exclaims, leaning forward to the screen. "Just darling…"

And it's undisputed. Samar and Aram embrace him as he sits between them, leaning down and hugging him tight. He doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. Then does both as the three of them hold on tight to each other and look at the precious baby girl filling the screen.

###

A few minutes later, Aram and Samar have left the van with more congratulations and once again he is alone with the Liz and the baby before him.

His conversation with Liz is soft and intimate, as Nik and the nurses work on closing her and keeping her stable after her delivery.

"I still like Agnes."

He chuckles, unable to believe he couldn't sway her from that. "You know my feelings," he tells her softly, looking at their sleeping baby. How could anything so sweet and tiny have such a name? "Besides reliving childhood traumas, it's an old lady name."

Liz smiles again. "But with babies, everything that's old is new again."

She's right there. He suddenly hears Reddingtons voice, and as Liz sends the man away, he can't help but feel sad for the guy as the camera picks up Red's look of utter defeat. Offering Red a token of an explanation, knowing nothing will hurt the sting of Liz shunning him, he tells him, "It's been a long day. She's had a lot of drugs."

At Liz's insistence that Red leave her daughter alone, all he wants to do is put his arms around her and hold her and the baby close and never let them go. Mr Kaplan appears, and Ressler no longer gives Reddington a thought.

"Liz. Tom. It's time. I'm sorry, I wish I could have given you longer with your dear little one here."

It's time. It's risky. It's horrifying. The culmination of this terrible, joyous day is about to be put into effect.

"Liz, are you ready?" he asks, heart thundering in his chest again.

She looks right into the camera as she holds their child. "I am."

Half out of camera shot, Ressler sees the needle inserted in Liz's arm by Mr Kaplan. "It will be okay, dearie. I will take care of you," the woman whispers to Liz.

She nods, still holding her child as her eyes look into the camera. Into his eyes. "I love you. Remember that."

His fingers trace her cheeks, landing on her soft lips, wanting to hold onto this image of her. He should be there with her as she goes through this part. As she's filled with drugs that will put her to sleep. A very deep sleep.

"I love you. I'll see you on the other side, Liz."

###

Despite Samar insisting she drive again, he takes the keys as they leave the house filled with surveillance equipment. They have an ambulance to meet. Mr Kaplan's drugs have done their job and he must reach Liz. Despite knowing it was coming fear sucks the breath from his lungs as he drives. Red and blue lights flash and in front of them, the armored vehicle is blazing a trail.

"Aram, how much further?" Samar asks.

"Still a few minutes. Take a left up ahead. You're making good time," he informs them.

It doesn't feel like he's making good time. "Damn it," he mutters as Samar glances at him.

"I'm sorry. Really sorry that you and-" she doesn't finish. No words can ever apologize for what he and Liz have to do to get out of this and be free.

He presses the com to his ear amid their sirens blaring. "Jacob, how's she doing?"

The reply comes back immediately. "Sleeping. Wrapped in her blanket and unaware of what mommy and daddy are doing to save her."

His hands grip the wheel tighter as they speed through the city streets to catch Liz.

"Cooper said something about duck hunting. What did he mean?" Samar asks, drawing his attention off Jacob and Agnes.

Ressler knows exactly what it means. He set it up with Nik in the first place. "A decoy. They're using a decoy."

The city buildings whizz by him in a blur. Pursuing the SWAT vehicle ahead, Ressler is completely focused on getting to his wife. To protect her. To take her away.

"Oh, my God," Samar exhales as they turn the corner. The van with Liz inside is in front of them, parked under a bridge. But Solomon and his team have got there first. The man only knows he is to kidnap Masha Rostova. And he's single mindedly determined to carry out that task. Just as Ressler needed him to do.

It must look real.

Out of the vehicle, not even stopping to slam the door Ressler is running, Samar behind him. Taking down armed men, he makes his way forward through the gunshots around him. A helicopter hovers overhead. News cameras aim in their direction as they sprint along the roadway, guns firing. The van is about 50 feet ahead of him as Dembe sees him.

"Agent Ressler, they are in the van," he hears in his ear amid the shouts and running. Overhead, a second news helicopter is approaching.

Dembe turns and leads him to the van. He knows what to expect. That she will be laying there completely still and lifeless. Yet as Dembe hauls the side door open and his eyes grow accustomed to the semi darkness in the van, time slows. Still strapped to the gurney, she lays still. Hair gently draping around her head, she is peaceful. Ashen. Cold.

Dead.

Nik is on the floor, apologizing. Reddington is silent, eyes closed, holding her grey hand to his cheek. For a moment Ressler wants to scream at the criminal that she's still alive. It's all an elaborate feint. It's all a hoax. But he can't. His eyes find Dembe who gives him a slight nod. They need to get Reddington out of here now.

Voice cracking as he orders his own men back, Ressler follows Dembe to the rear of the van. In the distance news vans, topped with aerials are arriving, followed by an armada of police cars. He had needed it to look real.

It does.

Mr Kaplan is suddenly there. He has no idea where she came from but she is there as they open the back doors to the van. Around them the gunfire is silenced. The only sound that of news choppers above and police sirens and bullhorns blaring in the distance.

"Raymond."

Reddington is kissing Liz, nuzzling her and he can't let her go. Ressler can't watch. He drops his gaze as Mr Kaplan pleads with the man.

"You need to leave, Raymond. The police are here."

Red doesn't move from Liz's side. Ressler is about to climb in the van and manually extricate him when he finally listens to Kaplan. Reddington, ever predictable, says exactly what they knew he would. Insisting she not go to the morgue.

It's all going according to plan. Yet his heart is crying inside as he looks past Reddington to Liz. His wife. He turns and leads Red to the car, getting the man out of here. The criminal and the FBI agent who hunted him. And Reddington has no idea that the man beside him who has offered his jacket in comfort has orchestrated this entire operation.

Getting Reddington to the car, Ressler stands a moment. Heartbroken at the sight of Reddington collapsing he takes a shuddering breath. He's singlehandedly just broken the inconsolable criminal. As Dembe drives away the sound of running feet reaches his ears and turning, he sees reporters and cameramen running toward him.

"Get back!" he screams at them, ordering his SWAT guys to form a perimeter. And from behind the black masked FBI team, the news cameras film the death of Masha Rostova.

He leaves the cameras to find Samar, where she's standing alone in the street watching the van silently.

"She's gone," is all he says, his voice cracking again as he takes a few steps, as if to escape that fact. As she crumbles he holds her. An hour earlier they had hugged and cried at the birth of his daughter. Now they hug and cry in the street at the death of his wife, surrounded by police as news choppers circle above.

"Be right back," he tells her as she collects herself. Leaving her as she returns to their SUV Ressler runs once again to the van where Mr Kaplan's coroners are bringing Liz out, still on her gurney.

He stands beside her now and slowly reaches for her hand. The skin is cold and abruptly he draws his fingers away and seeks out Mr Kaplan's eyes. "You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," she answers. He nods unable to take his eyes off Liz.

"She's so cold," he says, leaning down to her. The news cameras are still filming from about 50 feet away, but he pays them no heed. He had needed to sell it. To make it real. He had needed to kill Masha Rostova for the world to see.

This has been an elaborate hoax all day long. But the tears he cries for her are real as he leans down and kisses her forehead. Cold skin greets his lips, and drawing back from her he cups her cheek.

"You take care of her," he tells Kaplan. "Don't let anyone else touch her. You take care of-" _My wife._ He leans forward, hands on his knees as the tears flow.

Her arm finds his shoulders as she hugs him and whispers in his ear. "I'll take care of her, dearie. I promise."

And all he can do is nod, and watch through tears as Mr Kaplan zips the body bag that holds his wife. Because he knows what comes next.

He may have to also die to be free and with Liz.


	22. Daddy's Girl

The drive back to the Post Office is silent, punctuated only with Samar occasionally sniffing and dabbing at her eyes. She's staring out the window at nothing as the city slides by in the early evening.

"I can't believe she's gone. After everything we've been through," she's says quietly. "Everything you guys have been through," she adds.

Neither can he. And he put it all in place. He can't find his voice to answer her. It's buried under a constriction in his throat that's holding it prisoner. _Liz…_ Distracted, he slams on the brakes as a car stops in front of them. Samar lurches forward in the seat, hands outstretched to the dashboard as the vehicle slams to a sudden halt.

She looks quickly at him. "Would you like me to-"

"No."

She doesn't ask again, nor do they speak further as he moves off, more slowly now. Ten minutes later he drives into the underground parking lot and silently shuts off the engine. As she unbuckles her belt and opens her door, he sits there. He has no desire or ability to move. No desire to think properly anymore. Not yet. The day has ended with Liz in a body bag. The touch of her cold skin under his fingers burns into his memory. Instinctively, he takes his hand off the steering wheel and wipes his fingers on his coat. He's unaware Samar is standing outside the car watching him until she speaks.

"Are you-"

"No."

"Would you like some-"

"Yes."

She nods, closes the car door and leaves him be. He sees her step into the yellow elevator through eyes that are focused inwardly. To a roadway, a body bag and Liz. His wife. Of Solomon. Guns. News choppers. Reddington. Kaplan. Dembe. Nik. It's all a blur that he can't sift through right now.

Audrey had died on a roadway near a bridge and it hits him square in the chest that so had Liz. Leaning back on the seat his eyes close. The fact that this is exactly what he needed to do to keep her safe hasn't had time to edge through the horror of seeing her…dead. It's not real yet it's conjured up memories in his head that break his heart because it LOOKED and FELT so real.

And the one thought that does make it through his mind coherently keeps repeating itself. _What have I done?!_

The plan worked. Flawlessly. Yet right now that doesn't offer any consolation. He's unable to see her again until it's safe to do so. She is in Kaplan's hands. And as capable as those hands are, Liz is now completely out of reach. No more talking to her. No more seeing her in the Post Office. No more shared glances, or breathing in the smell of her soft perfume as he stands near her. No more soft laughter as she shares the baby with him and their coworkers.

The passenger door opens, startling him as his head whips around to see Cooper climbing in beside him. He straightens in the seat and faces forward again, before dropping his eyes.

"Don, far be it for me to invade a man's personal space when he needs some, but I…" Cooper stops, exhales and shakes his head. "This is hard," he adds, "But I didn't want you to be alone."

Ressler nods. It is hard. Yet it shouldn't be. They both know she's not dead, only out of reach. But at Cooper's presence beside him, another thought resounds through his head. He should never have put the man or the team in this position.

As they watch, the elevator doors open and Aram and Samar exit together, his arm on her back. "Everyone knows. I told the agents after I got your call, right after Samar called Aram," he says quietly and turns to Ressler who hasn't said a word to him yet. "Why don't I drive you home? I'll have Charlene pick me up from there."

But he doesn't want to go home to an empty apartment. To an NSA laptop that is looking into an apartment that Liz will never return to. He sighs, "Thanks, but there's somewhere else I need to go."

"I'll take you," Cooper insists.

And about to offer further argument, it's suddenly all too difficult. Ressler leans back in the seat, defeated. He can't think right now. Without further resistance, he hands his boss the keys and opens the driver's door.

Cooper exits his side and they swap seats. As he fires up the engine and heads for the exit ramp he glances at Ressler, "Where to?"

Ressler looks at his phone, finds the text from Jacob and relays the address. Cooper doesn't ask where they are going and only drives. His lead agent needs him.

While Ressler has not spoken to Jacob since watching Liz loaded into a coroners' van, he's getting occasional updates in his ear from the man. And Jacob's small mic is picking up something else. The unmistakable snuffles and whimpers of a baby as he holds her. And Raymond Reddington's voice had been there too, telling her that she had a good name.

That's something he'll agree to disagree on with Liz. When he sees her again…whenever that may be. He and his wife are now apart. Their family splintered in three directions.

Something occurs to him and he turns to Cooper. "Charlene?"

Cooper smiles, watching the traffic as he drives through the evening. "Yeah, we have dinner plans tonight. We're, uh, talking again," he tells Ressler, before he makes a left turn.

"I'm glad to hear that. You two are…" Ressler's mind can't finish a complete thought right now, apparently.

"Thank you. I'm glad too," Cooper replies, looking at the buildings they're passing and recognizing the district they're in. "The nightclub, right?" he asks Ressler, who only nods.

Reddington has left, he knows that from Jacob's report fifteen minutes ago, though Baz and a couple of Red's men are still guarding the location. Finding his way through the dark streets, Cooper locates the building and parks at the back exit doors. Ressler turns his mic on and talks to Jacob. "We're here."

"We?" Jacob questions, but in a moment the silver hair of Baz appears as the man opens the back exit door in the dark. They slip inside, Baz takes a quick look outside then locks the exit door behind them again, motioning with his automatic rifle toward the center of the dance floor. The nightclub is dim, lit only with a few purple and soft white lights as they make their way down a few steps, dropping down a level as the deserted makeshift surgical unit looms before them. The room is quiet. No more blue clad doctors and nurses. No more bright lights and hospital monitors. No more Paul Anka or mirror ball.

No more Liz.

As they spot Jacob coming toward them in the dark, he's in silhouette, backlit in soft white light from the bar area. Cooper stops and sits at a small table, letting Ressler walk on alone to the man approaching them. Ressler can make out the small bundle in Jacob's arms. Not clearly, but enough to know what he's holding. Who he has in his arms.

"Hey, man," Jacob greets him quietly, turning a little so the soft light falls on them, but Ressler doesn't reply. He only has eyes for one person. One tiny sleeping child, her face the only part of her that's visible. His baby girl. His little princess.

"Oh, my God…" he whispers, as his fingers brush her tiny, unbelievably soft cheek.

"She's beautiful," Jacob agrees, adjusting her in his arms so that Ressler to take her.

And take her he does, as his tiny baby is placed in his waiting arms. She's lighter and smaller than he could ever imagine. And beautiful. So, so beautiful. Just like her mother.

"I'll, uh, be right over there," Jacob tells him, before squeezing his arm and walking to join Cooper at the small table. Ressler nods, and seeing a small couch nearby, takes a few steps and slowly sinks into a comfortable seat that seems to cradle his body just as he's cradling his baby girl.

He kisses her perfect cheek, moves her hat up just a little, sees the red hair, and then gently removes the hat completely. His little ginger girl is in his arms as his large hand cradles her tiny head. Before he knows it he's filling her forehead with soft butterfly kisses. As his lips gently brush her skin, she moves a little in his arms, and lowering her a little he gazes on her.

Tiny dark eyes barely open in the soft light as she looks up at him, her mouth opening a little as she squirms.

"Hey, baby girl…" he whispers, blinking back tears that blur his vision. "Daddy's girl…" He tells her softly and smiles at her. His fingers find her cheek and softly as he can, he strokes her soft skin as her sleepy eyes slowly blink.

And just like that, his heart belongs to another. Just like that, he's a daddy as she captures his heart instantly. In that one moment, he would now willingly lay down his life to protect his daughter.

A soft cry escapes her lips and as he looks up, Jacob is there handing him a warm bottle. He doesn't even know where the bottle came from, but he takes it, places the teat in her mouth and feeds his daughter for the first time. Her eyes are still open as she suckles, small drops of milk dotting her lips.

"You like that, huh?" he whispers to her, smiling, unable to take his eyes off her. Her little contented whimpers and suckling sounds fill his ears as she drinks.

Cooper is beside them now. "Congratulations, Don. She's beautiful."

She is. He never knew. He never realized how deep he'd feel it. That he'd feel it this quickly. "Daddy's little girl," he tells her as she slows now, having filled her belly. Removing the bottle, Jacob takes it and puts it aside.

"You'll need to burp her," Cooper says softly, watching Ressler hold her.

Right. He's never done that before.

"May I?" Cooper asks, and takes a cloth from Jacob who is apparently a very good nanny. Placing the cloth on his left shoulder he reaches for the baby as Ressler carefully hands her to his boss. Cooper pats her back expertly and chuckles as a very big burp for such a tiny girl reaches their ears. "Good girl, Agnes," he tells her as she falls asleep on his shoulder.

Ressler rubs her back, before Cooper gently lowers her and places her in his arms again. Leaning back gently in the chair, Ressler lays her on his chest as she sleeps.

"You're a natural at this," Cooper encourages, and once again Ressler can't take his eyes off his baby girl as he gently slips her hat back on.

Cooper sits down beside him while Jacob leans against the table.

"I'm sure you two have this part figured out, as best you can, under the circumstances," Cooper tells them both softly, keeping it low and out of earshot of Reddington's men. "Don, I know you will find a way to be with her just as you were with…Elizabeth. But if you need anything, and I mean anything, you come to me. Charlene and I are here to help you both in any way we can with this precious baby girl, understand?"

"Thank you," they both echo.

Ressler rubs his baby girls back and can barely feel her weight at just over 6lb against his chest. But it's not about how much she weighs or how little she is, because she has just filled his world and filled his heart. He longs for Liz to be beside him to share in this. To be with her, and sleep with her and lay their baby girl between them.

That time will come, but not yet. For now he must go on with the plan. He'd faltered, seeing her 'dead' in the street. Had momentarily lost his way at that sight. But this tiny human asleep on his chest, this little part of him has just refocused his heart. Refocused his aim on the goal. He can do this. He will do this.

He will reunite his family.


End file.
